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SmiSSItE m^m^m^x  m  mm.    u.     +,   m 

I  I  I  I  I  I  I  I  I  I  i  !  !  I  I  i  i  I  I  I  I  I  I  I  I  I!  I  I  !  I  i  I  I  !  i  !  I  i  I  !  I  I 


*B    2MT    Mm 


ob  Covington 


4  NOVEL 


B\ 


ARCHIBALD  CLAVERING  GUNTER 


AUTH< 


Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York,"    "  A  Princess  of  Paris/' 
"The  King's  Stockbroker,"  etc. 


NEW   YORK. 

THE  HOME  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

3  EAST  FOURTEENTH  STREET 


;  ,  i  i  i  i  in  i  mi  i 


I  I  II  i  II  I  I  I  I  IMI 
•//.  •".-//.  v/:v/.v/ 


I  II  I  ill  I  III  Mil  III  III  M  II 

7  r.  ■//.  vr.  77.  va  va  vi.  v7.  vr.  •  '-  v '-  'jr.  •//. 


II  I  I  I  M  I  I  I  II  I  M  I 


Entered  at  tin  at  New  York  as  second-class  mail 


Bob  Covington 


A  NOVEL 


BY 


Archibald  Claverinq  Gunter 


AUTHOR  OF 


"  Mr.    Barnes    of  New    York,"    etc.,    etc 


NEW  YORK 
THE  HOME  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

3  EAST  FOURTEENTH  STREET 


SS5 


Copyright,  1897, 
Bv  A.  C.  GUNTER. 

All  rights  reserved. 


THE  WINTHROP  PRE68,   N.  Y. 


CONTENTS. 


BOOK  I. 


A    LUCKY    YOUNG    MAN. 

Chapter  I. — The  Race  Between  States, 

"  II.— The  Second  Heat,    - 

'"  III.— Blue  Grass  Girls,     - 

IV. — Sunday  Morning  at  the  French 
Market,        - 
"  V.— The  Spectre  of  the  Pelican  Ball 

VI.— "  I  Do  the  Romeo  Act!  " 


5 

42 
63 


BOOK  II. 

A  VERY  UNFORTUNATE  YOUNG  LADY. 

Chapter       VII. — Kitson    Jarvis    Shakes    Hands 

With  Himself,  -     74 

VIII.— The  Letter  from  California,    -     86 
"  IX.— Jules     Delaborde,     the     Fire- 

eater,  -         -         -         -     96 

X. — Paradise  and  the  Peri,     -         -   104 
XI.— The   Duel  Behind    the    Ceme- 

tery, 113 

"  XII. — Poussin,  the  Notary,        -         -127 

XIII.— "This  Man  Must  Be  Mad!"   -   136 

XIV.— "For  My  Sister's  Sake!  "         -   144 

"  XV. — In  Extremis,   -         -         -         -   156 


BOOK  III. 
HOW  HE  LOVED  HER. 
Chapter     XVI. — "Here's  Another  of  the  Happy 


Family," 


-   167 


4  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Chapter  XVII. — "The    Rashest    Promise    Man 

Ever  Made! "        -         -         -   179 

"        XVIII.— Kitson    Jarvis   Takes    Another 

Fee, 187 

"  XIX. — Two   Peculiar  Advertisements,    201 

BOOK  IV. 
HOW  HE  RULED  HER. 

Chapter      XX.— "  Isn't  It  Wonderful  ?"   -         -  214 
XXL— "From  Him  All  Things  Must 

Come,"        ...        .  223 

XXII.— What  Shall  He  Do  ?  -         -  236 

"       XXIII. — "A    Little    Joke    on    Monsieur 

Hector! "      -         -         -         -  247 

"       XXIV.— "The  Wrong  End  of  the  Cigar,"  255 

BOOK  V. 

HOW  HE  SAVED  HER. 

Chapter  XXV.  — "That   Old    Man    Laughed    at 

Me," 268 

"  XXVI. — Game-cocks  as  Watchdogs,  -  274 
"  XXVIL— "Silence,  Louise!"  -  -281 
"  XXVIIL— "Bob     Covington     Isn't    Built 

That  Way,"           -         -         -  290 

"       XXIX.— "Keep  Your  Promise!"     -         -  300 


Appendix     -        -        -        -        -        -        -        -312 


BOB  COVINGTON. 

BOOK    I. 

A    LUCKY    YOUNG    MAN, 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    RACE    BETWEEN    STATES. 

It  is  a  day  of  battle  in  New  Orleans — not  the  battle 
of  men,  but  the  battle  of  horses — this  Saturday,  this 
first  day  of  April  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  eighteen 
hundred  and  fifty-four,  upon  which  the  Great  Inter- 
state Post  Stake  is  to  be  fought  out  upon  the  Metai- 
rie  Course,  each  commonwealth  backing  its  own  horse 
with  State  pride  and  local  prejudice,  and,  above  all, 
the  good  round  dollars  of  Uncle  Sam,  twenty  thousand 
of  which  make  the  purse,  and  several  millions  more,  not 
only  in  coin,  but  in  corn,  cotton,  and  sugar  crops,  pres- 
ent and  to  come,  have  been  wagered  on  the  result. 

Kentucky  is  playing  its  bay  colt  Lexington  with 
every  dollar  it  can  raise  on  corn,  corn-juice,  and  fast 
horses;  Alabama  is  piling  its  bales  of  cotton  on  its 
flyer,  Highlander ;  Mississippi  is  going  cotton  and 
sugar  as  well  on  Lecomte,  and  Louisiana  betting  on 
its  pet  and  pride,  the  chestnut  Arrow,  corn,  cotton, 
sugar,  rice,  and  tobacco  ;  every  one  of  the  States 
throwing  in  lots  of  "  niggers  "  besides. 

And  all  this  in  a  country  where  a  man's  horse  was  his 
friend,  companion,  and  sometimes,  on  his  long  journeys 
over  the  lone  prairies  and  through  the  pathless  wilder- 
ness, his  safety  and  salvation — a  country  in  which  the 
greatest  criminal  was  the  horse-thief — aye,  over  road 
agents,  bandits,  or  even  assassins. 


■)  BO'B    COVINGTON 

So,  under  the  soft  sun  of  a  perfect  Louisiana  spring 
day,  the  breeze  from  the  lake  being  ju^t  enough  to 
temper  the  heat,  have  gathered  together  the  beauty, 
fashion,  wealth,  and  sporting  blood  of  all  the  Gulf 
States,  even  to  far-away  Texas,  and  the  whole  valley 
of  the  Mississippi,  with  New  Orleans  thrown  in — New 
Orleans  in  its  hey-day — New  Orleans  in  its  before- 
the-war  splendor  when  it  was  the  center  of  all  who 
lived  in  the  land  of  the  cotton  and  the  cane  ;  when 
the  Crescent  City  was  supposed  to  beat  the  world 
in  everything;  whtn  the  salons  of  the  St.  Charles 
and  St.  Louis  showed  more  feminine  beauty  and 
more  Parisian  furbelows  and  Brazilian  diamonds  to 
the  square  inch  than  any  other  hotels  in  America; 
when  New  Orleans  boats  were  supposed  to  run  faster 
and  blow  up  slicker  than  any  others  on  the  Mississippi 
River;  when  the  planter-aristocracy  of  that  region, 
piling  up  their  bales  of  cotton  and  rolling  up  their 
hogsheads  of  sugar,  lived  like  patriarchal  princes,  sur- 
rounded by  hundreds  of  slaves  and  dependents;  when 
money  flowed  like  water  in  the  gambling  saloons  of 
Canal  street  and  the  Rue  Royal ;  when,  as  Colonel 
Pike,  of  Arkansas,  remarked,  "This  is  a  town  that 
makes  you  think  of  hell,  but  you  cotton  to  it  as  if  it  were 
heaven. "  In  short,  the  New  Orleans  of  the  great  slave 
States,  before  their  power  was  broken  and  their  chiv- 
alry went  down  under  the  onset  of  overwhelming  odds 
and  the  impact  of  greater  resources. 

In  the  judges'  stand  are  some  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished men  in  the  South.  Ex-President  Fillmore, 
Wade  Hampton,  Col.  Hughes,  Bob  Evans,  and  Judge 
Smith,  chosen  to  represent  their  several  States,  enter- 
ing horses  in  the  contest.  On  the  quarter-stretch  and 
in  the  betting-ring  under  the  grandstand,  are  seen  all 
the  well-known  turfmen  of  America,  wagering  their 
money  with  the  careless  ease  of  ideal  sportsmen.  But 
others  are  betting  also.  Jammed  into  a  seething  mass 
along  the  stretch,  oystermen  from  Barataria  Lagoons, 
Italian  fruit  dealers,  Irish  butchers,  even  darky  roust- 
abouts from  the  levee  and  cotton  press,  are  backing 
their  horses. 

On  the  grand  stand,  which  now  looks  like  a  bou- 


BOB    COVINGTON  7 

quet  of  beauty — gloves,  gowns  and  other  feminine 
nick-nacks  are  being  risked  by  lovely  and  excited 
girls.  The  belles  of  Lexington  and  Louisville,  who 
have  come  to  bet  for  Kentucky's  glory ;  the  beauties  of 
St.  Louis  and  Memphis,  each  one  of  whom  has  picked 
out  a  winner;  aristocratic  loveliness  from  South  Caro 
lina  and  the  shores  of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  which  never 
sent  a  finer  gathering  of  beauty  than  the  fair  Mobil- 
ians  who  are  here  this  day  to  do  honor  to  Highlander, 
Alabama's  horse,  by  clapping  of  dainty  hands  and 
wagering,  with  feminine  prodigality,  gloves  in  dozens, 
hats,  bonnets,  and  robes  from  Madame  Olympe  on  the 
pride  of  their  State. 

But,  of  course,  in  greater  quantity,  and  therefore 
more  dominant,  is  that  peculiar,  soft,  tropical  loveli- 
ness, that  wondrous  Creole  beauty  pertaining  to  Lou- 
isiana, in  whose  race  have  been  blended  the  blood  of 
the  Castilian  and  the  blood  of  the  Gaul,  productive  in 
its  women  of  a  delicate,  sensitive,  though  sometimes 
sensuous  beauty,  giving  to  them  the  eyes  of  Castile,  the 
ankles  of  Seville  and  the  graceful  vivacity  of  Paris,  all 
moulded  together  and  made  softer  by  blossoming  under 
the  sun  of  the  tropics. 

The  horses  are  coming  upon  the  track.  Lexington, 
ridden  by  that  slight,  pale,  consumptive  white  boy, 
Henry  Meichon,  Mississippi's  Lecomte,  bestridden  by 
Black  John,  Highlander,  by  Gilpatrick,  and  Arrow, 
upon  whose  saddle  sits  Mr.  Kenner's  boy,  familiarly 
known  as  "  Old  Abe,"  a  soubriquet  he  has  borne  from 
pickaninnyhood.  All  these  as  they  leave  the  paddock 
are  eyed  very  critically  by  the  crowd  of  gentlemen  who 
love  sport  for  sport's  sake  and  know  a  horse;  among 
them,  Bob  Covington,  a  young  Kentuckian  of  bright, 
fresh,  keen  face,  honest  eyes,  hearty  manner,  and  off- 
hand, devil-may-care  bonhommie. 

"Bet  on  any  other  than  Lexington  ?  Not  by  Daniel 
Boone  !  "  he  says,  "  Gentlemen,  I  will  take  Lexington 
at  one  to  two  against  the  field.  Three  horses  against 
one  poor  little  Blue  Grass  colt;  but  I  couldn't  go  back 
on  corn-fed  horses  and  corn-fed  girls  " 

"  Done  with  you  for  five  hundred  !  "  remarks  Henri' 
La  Farge,  a  young  Louisianian,  who  is  considered  by 
Creole  ladies  the  very  best  parti  in  New  Orleans. 


8  BOB    COVINGTON 

"  Doit  over  again  !  "  says  the  Kentuckian.  "  I  have 
got  a  stock  farm  I'll  put  against  your  cotton  crop." 

"Supposing  we  do  it  twice  over,  in  thousands?" 
suggests  young  La  Farge,  who  raises  lots  of  cotton  and 
any  quantity  of  sugar,  and  can  afford  the  luxury. 

"  That  makes  twenty- five  hundred,"  replies  Coving- 
ton, "  that  I  wager  against  your  five  thousand  dollars." 

"  Certainly.     I'll  do  it  over  again  !  " 

But  a  detaining  hand  is  laid  upon  the  Kentuckian's 
-houlder,  and  old  Colonel  Dick  Talliaferro,  of  Louis- 
ville, says:  "  Look  here,  Bob;  don't  you  think  you've 
done  it  enough  ?  " 

"Can't  have  enough  of  a  good  thing  !  Don't  you 
see,  the  track  is  heavy  with  mud  from  yesterday's 
rain  ?  Was  there  ever  a  horse  trained  in  Kentucky  that 
was  not  a  mud-horse  ?  "  whispers  the  young  man  to  the 
older  one.  Then  he  cries  to  La  Farge :  ' '  Do  it  again ! 
Only  the  winner  is  to  give  a  champagne  supper." 

"With  pleasure;  at  the  Orleans  Club." 

"Very  well.  That  is  five  thousand  dollars  to  your 
ten  thousand  dollars." 

About  this  time,  probably  thinking  that  he  has  put 
up  enough  of  his  goods  and  chattels  even  for  the  honor 
of  his  State,  the  young  Blue  Grass  sportsman  permits 
himself  to  be  led  away  and  introduced  to  Major  Mc- 
Burney,  who  has  just  been  remarking  to  Talliaferro: 
"  By  Davy  Crockett!  That's  a  fine  specimen  of  a  man 
you've  brought  down  with  you,  as  well  as  a  fine  speci- 
men of  a  horse." 

"Yes,"  whispers  the  veteran  Kentuckian.  "His 
grandfather  was  an  Indian  fighter  along  with  Daniel 
Boone,  and  the  race  don't  deteriorate." 

Looking  at  him,  McBurney  thinks  it  does  not.  For 
Bob  Covington,  as  he  is  familiarly  called  by  his  friends, 
is  a  great  big  strapping  fellow,  just  over  six  feet  high, 
and  though  not  carrying  much  flesh,  has  enough  of 
solid  muscular  tissue  about  him  t  >  give  him  not  only 
strength  but  a  wiry  activity  peculiar  to  so  many  of  the 
natives  of  that  region — traits  that  have  probably 
come  down  from  those  who  had  to  cultivate  them  to 
save  their  scalps  from  marauding  savages  but  two  gen- 
erations, before.     As  it  is,  Bob  has  keen,  bluish-gray 


BOB    COVINGTON  9 

eyes,  a  complexion  as  fresh  as  that  of  a  girl,  a  light, 
hearty,  whole-souled  laugh,  and  a  soft  voice  that  goes 
straight  to  the  heart  of  man,  and  also — of  woman. 

"  Major  McBurney,  this  is  my  young  friend,  Robert 
Boone  Covington.  I  call  him  'Bob,'  having  dandled 
him  on  my  knee!"  remarks  Talliaferro. 

' '  Ah !  Come  down  to  see  Kentucky  horseflesh  beaten 
by  Louisiana  horseflesh,  I  hope,"  laughs  McBurney, 
extending  a  cordial  hand. 

"lam  not  sure  that  I  ought  to  be  so  enthusiastic," 
returns  Covington,  "about  beating  Louisiana.  You 
know  I  have  some  Creole  blood  in  me  ;  my  mother 
came  from  Assumption  Parish  in  this  State.  She  was 
Miss  Isabelle  Tournay." 

"Ah!  Mademoiselle  Isabelle,  sister  of  Prosper 
Tournay!  I  knew  the  savant  poet  well,"  replies  the 
Louisianian.  ' '  I  have  played  poker  with  your  romantic 
uncle  at  Duval's,  and  danced  with  your  mother,  young 
gentleman,  in  the  old  Orleans  ball-room." 

"Yes — but  please  don't  talk  of  my — my  mother!" 
mutters  the  Kentuckian,  and  the  young  man  turns 
away,  his  eyes  growing  very  sad. 

Looking  at  him  Talliaferro  remarks  to  the  Louisian- 
ian: "Bob's  father  and  mother  were  carried  off  by 
that  rush  of  cholera  in  1850.  He  hasn't  forgotten  it 
yet." 

But  the  Metairie  race-course  this  day  is  not  a  place 
for  memories  of  any  kind — the  present  is  too  dominant. 
Sauntering  across  the  stretch,  Covington  suddenly 
grows  a  little  less  interested  in  the  horses  than  in 
something  else — much  more  beautiful.  A  moment 
after,  he  steps  up  to  Henri  La  Farge  and  says:  "  Do 
you  see  that  lady?  " 

"What  is  the  matter  ?"  remarks  his  friend.  "  Le- 
comte  just  came  past  in  his  preliminary  canter,  and 
you  didn't  notice  him  !  " 

"No — I — Do  you  know  who  that  lady  is  ? — the 
young  one.  The  one  in  the  barouche  there,  sitting 
beside  a  lady  of  more  certain  years." 

"  Oh,  the  one  apparently  just  out  of  mourning  ?  " 

"Well,  I  don't  know  what  you  call  her  dress,  but 
it's  thundering  becoming.     The  one  with  the  white- 


IO  BOB    COVINGTON 

headed    coachman.     No,    not     the   four-in-hand — the 
pair  I'm  speaking  about.     Do  you  know  who  she  is  ? " 

"  Ah  !  The  one  who  has  just  thrown  back  her  veil  to 
get  a  better  view  of  the  course.  Parbleu,  she  is 
beautiful  !  " 

"  Beautiful!  I  should  think  so!  Do  you  know  who 
she  is?  You're  acquainted  with  everybody  in  New 
Orleans — by  sight  any  way.     Why  don't  you  speak  ?  " 

"I'm  looking!  " 

"And  so  am  I.  Isn't  she  a  leetle  the  purtiest  thing 
you  ever  put  your  eyes  on  ?  That  face  is  as  clean  cut 
as  a  cameo — but  what  a  soul  is  in  it!  And  you  don't 
know  who  she  is?  You  New  Orleans  gentlemen  are  not 
very  active  and  ambitious.  If  this  were  an  old  Ken- 
tucky race-course  there'd  be  more  boys  playing  about 
that  barouche  than  flies  in  summer  time.  Our  Blue 
Grass  girls  are  a  sight  to  make  a  man  open  his  eyes ; 
but  this  one  is  a — a  little  different." 

"  I  don't  know  who  the  young  lady  is,  but  I  can  find 
out  for  you,  I  think,  if  she  lives  in  Louisiana.  I 
thought  I  saw  Martineau  near  her  carriage.  I  will  in- 
quire." 

His  friend  leaves  Bob  looking  at  the  young  lady  in 
the  carriage.  And  well  may  he  look,  for  he  is  gaz- 
ing upon  an  almost  perfect  specimen  of  Creole  beauty 
Though  not  a  brunette,  the  girl's  eyes  are  a  blue  that 
will  shine  with  excitement,  but  will  grow  dark  if 
touched  by  passion.  Her  lips,  exquisitely  cut,  are  red 
as  blushing  poppies,  yet  tender  and  full  of  sentiment, 
suggesting  that  a  very  warm  heart  is  beating  in  the 
fair  body  beneath  them.  Her  hair  is  wavy  and  brown, 
growing  very  much  darker  in  the  shadows,  but  when 
tinted  by  the  sun — brown.  Her  nose,  clean  cut  as  a 
cameo,  with  a  trace  of  retrousse  in  it,  just  enough  to 
make  it  piquant  or  haughty,  as  its  owner  wishes.  The 
forehead  not  too  high,  but  broad.  The  brows  cleanly 
penciled,  just  strong  enough  to  indicate  force,  but  not 
severe  enough  to  lessen  by  an  iota  the  feminine  grace 
that  adorns  and  beautifies  every  expression  of  the  face 
and  every  pose  or  movement  of  the  rounded  contours 
of  the  figure.  As  Covington  looks  at  her  the  young  lady 
is  in  repose,  talking  carelessly  to  her  companion  or 


BOB    COVINGTON  II 

chaperone,  and  the  Kentuckian  thinks  her  slightly- 
haughty.  A  moment  after,  she  smiles,  and  it  is  as  the 
sun  breaking  forth  to  give  joy  unto  the  earth. 

Just  at  this  moment  La  Farge  stands  beside  him  and 
says:  "I  have  discovered  her  name.  Though  they 
have  a  house  in  New  Orleans  she  does  not  live  here. 
The  young  lady  has  come  up  to  the  races,  I  presume. 
Her  plantation  is  down  on  the  Atchafalaya.  She  is 
Miss  Louise  Tournay,  the  daughter  of  old  Prosper 
Tournay,  the  savant,  who  was  suddenly  killed  by  the 
accidental  explosion  of  his  shot  gun  ibis  hunting  a  year 
or  so  back But  where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"I'm  going  over  to  see  my  cousin,"  says  the  Ken- 
tuckian suddenly  and  proudly,  "I'm  much  obliged  to 
you.     I  will  introduce  you  afterward." 

Then  he  vaults  over  the  palings  into  the  stretch,  runs 
across,  despite  a  shriek  of  warning  from  a  track-keeper, 
swings  himself  over  the  other  fence,  pushes  his  way 
through  the  crowd,  and  a  moment  after,  to  the  aston- 
ishment of  a  very  beautiful  young  lady,  who  is  gowned 
very  fashionably  and  exquisitely  in  white  trimmed  with 
lavender,  takes  off  his  hat,  makes  an  old-time  bow,  and 
says  :  "  Permit  a  relative  to  introduce  himself,  and  ask 
a  thousand  pardons  for  doing  so.  I  am  Bob  Covington, 
of  Lexington,  Kentucky,  and  you  are  my  first  cousin, 
I  believe,  Miss  Tournay;  my  mother  was  your  father's 
sister,  Isabelle." 

After  a  second's  surprise,  the  young  lady  replies, 
looking  earnestly  at  him:  "I  am  delighted  to  meet 
you,  for  you  are  the  only  relative  I  have  in  the  world, 
as  far  as  I  know,  except  my  sister.  I  have  heard 
my  father  speak  of  my  aunt.  She  is  dead  now.  I 
have  often  wished  to  see  her,  but   Louisiana  is  a  long 

way  from  Kentucky,  and "  here  the  young  lady  bites 

her  lip. 

"And,"  remarks  Bob,  "I  believe  there  was  some 
estrangement.  But  neither  you  nor  I,  Miss  Tournay, 
know  anything  about  it,  and  as  I  have  not  another 
first  cousin  in  the  world,  I  think  we  had  better  shake 
hands  over  the  old  disagreement.  It  never  grew  to  a 
family  feud,  I  believe,  it  is  a  thing  of  which  we  know 
nothing — and   this  generation   should   become   better 


12  BOB    COVINGTON 

friends   than   the    last."     His   hand   is  half  held  out. 

There  is  something  in  the  frank,  open-hearted,  care- 
less, and  impulsive,  but  thoroughly  honest  method  of 
this  young  man's  speech,  address  and  bearing  that 
Miss  Louise,  murmuring:  "Your  face  reminds  me 
of  my  father,"  extends  a  daintily  gloved,  exquisitely 
small  patrician  hand.  This  is  literally  smothered  in 
the  big  digits  of  the  Kentuckian,  who  has  great  difficulty 
in  constraining  himself  from  giving  it  a  grip  that  would 
have  caused  its  beautiful  owner  a  pang  or  two. 

"You  will  excuse  me,  I  hope,  Mrs.  Joyce,  but  this 
advent  of  a  relative  came  suddenly.  Let  me  present 
my  cousin,  Mr.  Robert  Covington.  You  see  your 
name  is  familiar  to  me,"  she  adds  graciously,  while 
Bob  is  bowing  to  a  lady  of  rather  prim  appearance  who 
is  sitting  in  the  barouche  beside  Miss  Tournay. 

"lam  most  happy  to  meet  you,"  says  the  chaperone, 
for  that  is  evidently  her  office.  "Since  we  came  down 
to  the  Beau  Rivage  plantation  we  have  led  rather  a 
lonely  life." 

"Of  course — I  understand,"  murmurs  the  Kentuck- 
ian, gazing  at  the  girl's  half-mourning.  "But  now  I 
reckon  you've  just  run  up  from  Assumption  to  bet 
gloves,  bonbons,  furbelows,  gimcracks,  and  perhaps  a 
robe  or  two  from  Mme.  Olympe,  on  Arrow,  your  State's 
horse,  and  have  the  beginning  of  a  thundering  good 
time,"  adds  the  young  gentleman,  suggestively. 

"  No;  I  believe  I  have  only  one  little  wager — a  half 
dozen  pairs  of  gloves  with  my  family  lawyer.  I  know 
very  few  people  here.  You  see,  I  was  educated  in  the 
North  and  have  only  lately  come  to  Louisiana.  Be- 
sides we  live  about  seventy-five  miles  from  New  Or- 
leans," answers  Miss  Louise.  "But  here  comes  the 
gentleman  of  whom  I  spoke." 

A  moment  after,  Arvid  Martineau,  a  typical  Creole 
of  French  descent,  of  about  sixty  years  of  age,  with 
slightly  grizzled  moustache,  slightly  silvered  hair, 
the  manners  of  a  Parisian,  and  the  dignity  of  a  man 
practicing  at  the  New  Orleans  bar,  one  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished of  the  day,  strolls  up.  "  Monsieur  Martin- 
eau," remarks  Miss  Louise,  "permit  me  to  present  my 
cousin,  Mr.  Robert  Boone  Covington,  of  Lexington, 
who  has  come  down  to  see  his  horse  beaten." 


BOB    COVINGTON  1 3 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  I  have  come  down,  whether 
rny  horse  is  beaten  or  not, "  returns  the  Kentuckian,  and 
his  voice  says  he  means  it.      ''I  am  very  much  pleased 

to  meet   you,    Monsieur    Martineau  " but   here    a 

peculiar  expression  in  the  face  of  the  lawyer  makes 
this  volatile  young  gentleman  pause.  The  look  is  not 
of  dislike,  but  certainly  not  of  cordiality,  and  perchance 
almost  of  consten  ation. 

"You — you  are  not  well?"  suddenly  asks  Miss 
Tournay,  for  Martineau's  face  is  deathly  pale. 

"  No  !  I  was  perfectly  well,  but  the  sun — I  believe 
is  a  little  too  warm — perhaps  the  excitement.  You 
know  I  have  backed  Arrow  rather  heavily  for  a  man  of 
professional  income,"  murmurs  the  attorney. 

"  I'm  afraid  you've  lost  your  money,"  remarks  Bob, 
who  can't  help  thinking:  "What  the  deuce  in  my 
appearance  had  such  an  effect  upon  this  man  ?  By 
Daniel  Boone  !  That  Creole  looked  at  me  very  much 
as  if  I  were  an  Indian  with  a  scalping  knife  in  my 
hand."  Then  he  suddenly  cogitates:  "I've  hit  it! 
He  doubts  the  genuineness  of  my  relationship.  Thinks 
I'm  flying  false  colors  to  get  acquainted  with  this  pink 
of  perfection  who  is  under  his  charge." 

Acting  on  this  idea,  Bob  suggests:  "  Miss  Tournay, 
permit  me  to  put  your  carriage  in  a  little  better  place, 
near  the  judges'  stand.  I  know  a  good  deal  about 
horse-racing,  and  I  can  locate  you  so  you  will  get  a 
good  view  of  the  final  struggle." 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  replies  the  young 
lady,  and  a  moment  after  she  finds  her  barouche,  under 
the  experienced  guidance  of  her  new-found  cousin, 
placed  in  the  best  position  to  give  its  fair  occupant  a 
first-rate  view  of  the  finish  of  the  great  four-mile  race. 

Then,  with  a  sudden  thought,  "I'll  show  him  I  am 
genuine,"  Bob  says  to  the  French  lawyer:  "Stroll 
over  with  me  ;  I  want  to  introduce  you  to  my  Kentucky 
friends.  Be  back  in  a  few  moments. "  Raising  his  hat 
the  two  stride  off  together.  For,  curiously  enough, 
Arvid  Martineau  is  anxious  to  know  if  this  gentleman's 
name  is  genuine;  if  so,  he  is  very  well  aware  that  the 
relationship  is  genuine  also. 

Of  this  he  gets  ample  proof  in  the  next  two  minutes, 


14  BOB    COVINGTON 

being  introduced  by  this  rapid  young  gentleman  as 
"the  family  lawyer  of  my  cousin,  the  belle  of  Louisi- 
ana," to  Ten  Broeck  and  Kenyonand  Huddleston,  and 
half  a  dozen  more  prominent  Kentucky  turfmen,  and 
they  all  go  under  the  grand  stand  to  the  clubroom  of 
the  Metairie  Jockey  Club  and  take  a  drink. 

"You  know  there's  a  change  in  the  betting,"  re- 
marks Talliaferro,  chancing  along.  "Lexington  is 
coming  up  in  the  odds." 

"Well,  I've  put  all  the  money  I  want  on  our  horse, 
and  now  I've  something  pleasanter  to  look  after.  I 
think  I'll  walk  over  and  see  the  race  from  my  cousin's 
carriage,"  says  Covington.  "Won't  you  come  with 
me,  Monsieur  Martineau  ?  " 

"Yes,"  replies  the  family  lawyer  suddenly,  and  ijhey 
are  just  in  time  to  cross  the  track  before  it  is  cleared 
for  the  first  heat. 

While  they  are  walking  the  lawyer  is  speaking.  |  "  I 
am  very  glad,"  he  remarks,  looking  the  young  Ken- 
tuckian  over,  "that  you  take  such  an  interest  in  your 
cousin." 

"Who  would  not?  "  says  Covington  enthusiastically. 
"There's  no  first  cousin  in  the  world,  in  my  opinion, 
up  to  her  in  good  looks  Gaze  over  on  the  grand  stand. 
There  sit  the  prettiest  women  in  America,  every  girl 
of  them  in  her  best  bib  and  tucker,  but  hang  me  if  I 
think  there's  one  of  them  that  quite  comes  up  to  my 
cousin  Louise." 

"  Yes;  she  is  very  beautiful." 

"All  I  wonder, "  says  the  young  man,  ' '  is  that  there 
is  not  a  crowd  of  bucks  and  bloods  round  that  car- 
riage. There  would  be  in  Lexington.  The  boys  here 
seem  to  me  rather  slow  on  the  trail." 

"  There  would  be  here;  but  your  cousin  knows  no- 
body, or  very  few.  Miss  Tournay  has  lived  on  the 
plantation  ever  since  her  return  from  school.  She 
has  only  been  in  New  Orleans  two  days.  This  is  the 
first  time  she  has  been  seen  at  any  public  festivity." 

"  I'm  rather  delighted  to  hear  that,"  remarks  Mr. 
Covington.      "It  saves  me  trouble." 

"How?" 

"  Well,  I've    got  a   clear  course  for  this   afternoon. 


BOB    COVINGTON  15 

After  that  I  expect  to  have  to  run  heats  with  every 
dindy  in  Louisiana.  Ah!  She  sees  us!  See,  my 
ccusin  Louise  waves  her  parasol !  Look  at  me!  Observe 
Bob  Covington  making  hay  while  the  sun  shines." 

A  few  seconds  after  they  stand  beside  Miss  Tournay's 
caniage,  and  the  lawyer,  gazing  on,  chews  his  grizzled 
moustache  grimly,  but  smiles  as  he  notes  that  the  lady 
and  gentleman  seem  to  become,  almost  on  the  instant, 
very  well  acquainted. 

Miss  Tournay  is  chatting  pleasantly  and  with  less 
constraint  than  is  usual  to  New  Orleans  young  ladies, 
especially  those  of  the  Creole  population,  who  are 
broight  up  very  much  after  the  manner  of  the  French. 
But  Louise  has  been  educated  at  a  New  York  board- 
ing school  and  has  absorbed  some  of  the  manners  of 
the  Northern  metropolis. 

A  moment  after  Mr.  Covington  strolls  away,  to 
bring  the  last  news  from  the  horses,  which  are  now 
getting  ready  for  the  start.  « 

Taking  advantage  of  the  young  Kentuckian's 
absence,  Monsieur  Martineau,  getting  close  to  the 
young  lady's  pretty  ear,  remarks:  "  I  have  just  been 
over  with  your  cousin,  Miss  Louise,  talking  to  the 
magnates  of  his  State.  Mr.  Bob  Covington  seems  to 
be  about  as  much  the  pride  of  Kentucky  as  that  beau- 
tiful horse  Lexington  who  is  cantering  up  the  track. 
Your  cousin  is  a  very  gallant  representative  of  the 
Blue  Grass  region." 

"lam  delighted  to  hear  that;  but  who  would  not 
have  known  it  by  his  face,"  returns  the  young  lady. 
A  moment  later  she  makes  Mr.  Covington  very  happy, 
for  as  he  steps  up  to  the  barouche  again,  she  addresses 
him  as  "Cousin  Bob." 

14  By  Heaven  !  Cousin  Louise,"  exclaims  the  gallant, 
taking  off  his  hat,  "you've  made  me  happier  than  if 
Lexington  won  the  race;  and  that  means  the  happiest 
man  upon  this  earth." 

"Well,  you  know  4  blood  is  thicker  than  water,'" 
returns  the  young  lady.  "Since  my  father's  death  I 
have  had  no  relatives  except  my  little  sister,  who  is 
away  from  me  in  a  New  York  boarding  school.  There- 
fore you  come  in  very  opportunely;  don't  you,  Cousin 
Bob?  " 


l6  BOB    COVINGTON 

She  emphasizes  the  name  by  a  slightly  heightened 
color  in  her  soft  cheeks  and  a  look  in  her  eyes  thac 
makes  the  Kentuckian  know  Louise  Tournay  meats 
what  she  says 

"Let's  have  a  cousinly  wager  to  celebrate  ihe 
event,"  laughs  Covington,  very  proud  of  his  new  foind 
relative. 

The  young  lady,  gazing  at  him,  hesitates.  The 
color  on  her  exquisite  face,  already  heightened,  isnow 
a  burning  red.  Into  her  mind  has  flown,  "  A  cousinly 
wager  may  mean,  perchance,  a  cousinly  kiss  from  this 
young  man  of  rapid  action,  impulsive  bearing,  fnd 
warm  heart." 

But  Bob,  catching  the  big  blush,  and  Miss  Louise's 
embarrassed  manner,  begins  to  grow  red  himself,  fcnd 
blurts  out,  "I — I  didn't  mean  that  !  "  Then  recojer- 
ing  himself,  goes  on,  with  a  gallant  mien  and  \ery 
earnest  eyes:  "  Though  I  shall  feel  the  most  honored 
man  on  earth,  when  Cousin  Lou  considers  Cousin  Bob 
worthy  of  such  a  mark  of  kinship."  To  this  he  adds 
quite  pathetically:  "  You  know,  I  have  never  kissed  a 
cousin  in  my  whole  life." 

"No?"  murmurs  Miss  Louise,  caressing  the  tip  of 
a  very  dainty  petite  bottine  with  the  end  of  her  white 
parasol.  Then  she  cries  suddenly:  "  Of  course  not ! 
I  am  the  only  cousin  you've  ever  had,"  blushes  once 
more  and  bursts  out  laughing;  and  this  incident  seems 
to  do  a  great  deal  toward  sweeping  away  any  extreme 
punctilio  between  Cousin  Lou  and  her  just-discovered 
Cousin  Bob. 

"What  I  meant  was,  Miss  Louise,  to  give  you  a 
cousin's  privilege  of  naming  your  own  horse  or  horses 
and  your  own  odds  in  gloves,  nicknacks  or  feminine 
furbelows,"  remarks  Mr.  Covington,  gazing  with  ad- 
miring eyes  on  the  pretty  picture  made  by  the  young 
lady,  who  is  now  a  charming  melange  of  blushes,  laugh- 
ter, and  sparkling  eyes. 

*  *  That  means, "  murmurs  Louise,  ' '  you  want  to  make 
a — a  cousinly  present." 

"  Not  exactly.  But  I  can  tell  you  I'll  lose  to  you 
with  better  grace  than  I  would  to  any  other  human 
being.     Let's  make  it  gloves,"  continues   the  young 


BOB    COVINGTON  I  7 

man  eagerly.  "You  name  your  two  horses  and  num- 
ber of  dozens.     I  will  take  the  nags  you  reject." 

"Very  well.  I  select  Arrow,  our  Louisiana  horse, 
and,  in  compliment  to  my  Ken  ucky  relative,  Lexing- 
ton. "  Then  she  laughs.  "  I  think  I  will  only  rob  you 
of  a  dozen  pairs  of  gloves,  Cousin  Bob." 

"How  I  shall  enjoy  paying  this  wager!  That's 
kind  of  you,  that's  heartfelt,  that's  cousinly,  betting  on 
our  horse,  Cousin  Lou, "  cries  Covington,  elated.  ' '  Be- 
sides, I  can  tell  you,  with  this  muddy  track,"  he  whis- 
pers this,  "  Lexington  is  sure.  You  might  as  well  tell 
me  the  number  of  your  gloves  even  now." 

"Five  and  three-quarters.  But  be  sure  and  get 
Jouvin's,  with  long  fingers,"  remarks  his  cousin. 

Looking  at  her  delicately  gloved  patrician  hands,  one 
of  which  is  lying  in  easy  grace  over  the  edge  of  the 
carriage  and  the  other  dallying  with  her  parasol,  Mr. 
Covington  thinks  that  if  anything,  five  and  three-quar- 
ters will  be  too  large  for  her  pretty  digits. 

While  this  conversation  has  been  going  on  Mon- 
sieur Martineau  has  been  chatting  with  Mrs.  Joyce, 
casting  now  and  then  a  glance  at  the  beautiful  young 
lady  and  her  cousinly  cavalier.  The  more  cordial  the 
young  man  gets  in  his  manner  to  the  young  lady,  the 
happier  the  family  lawyer's  face. 

"Don't  you  think  it  a  rather  quick  assumption  of 
relationship  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Covington,"  whispers 
the  chaperone  nervously. 

"No;  there's  no  doubt  of  Cousin  Bob's  standing 
in  his  State  and  with  the  Kentucky  gentlemen  who 
know  him.  I  believe  they  think  of  running  him  for 
Congress  up  in  the  Blue  Grass  District.  There's  no 
doubt  of  his  relationship  to  Miss  Louise.  He  is  a 
noble,  whole-souled  fellow  and — and  I'm  very  glad  of 
it." 

This  last  is  said  with  a  curious  twitching  of  the  Cre- 
ole's grizzled  moustache. 

But  now  there  is  a  wild  buzz  of  excitement  from  the 
crowd  that  lines  the  Metairie  race-course  and  through 
its  grand  stand — next  breathless  silence.  The  horses 
are  at  the  post  ! 

Then  in  all  this  multitude,  who  have  forgotten  even 


l8  BOB    COVINGTON 

human  life  itself  in  their  thoughts  of  horseflesh,  one 
man,  Arvid  Martineau,  utters  a  profound  sigh. 

"  Sighing,  my  dear  fellow?"  remarks  Henri  La  Farge, 
who  has  strolled  up  to  him.  "  Do  you  think  you've 
backed  the  wrong  horse  ?  " 

But  Bedlam  now  breaks  loose!  The  drum  has 
tapped,  the  horses  are  away,  all  in  a  bunch  together. 
At  the  turn  Lexington  leads,  Arrow  second,  Lecomte 
third,  and  Highlander  well  up. 

"  My  two  horses  first!  Lexington  and  Arrow!"  cries 
Miss  Louise  excitedly,  clapping  her  hands.  ''The 
gloves  are  mine!" 

"Yes;  I  think  they  are.  But  four  miles  isn't  won 
in  the  first  quarter,"  laughs  the  Kentuckian.  "You've 
not  been  accustomed  to  horse-races,  Cousin  Louise. 
We'll  have  to  educate  .you  in  the  Blue  Grass  region." 

A  moment  after,  the  young  lady  gives  a  gasp  of  dis- 
may and  mutters:  "Lecomte!  Those  are  h'is  colors, 
aren't  they  ?  Lecomte  is  ahead.  Oh,  goodness 
gracious!     He  has  passed  Lexington." 

But  a  moment  after  the  chestnut  falls  back  behind 
the  bay.  This  is  the  second  mile,  and  they  hold  this 
position  for  the  third  time  round  the  course.  But  the 
mud  is  beginning  to  tell  upon  the  lighter-limbed  Arrow ; 
his  speed  has  slackened,  and  Highlander  is  now  in 
third  place,  Lexington  first,  Lecomte  second. 

"I  tell  you,  it  will  be  a  contest  between  Blue  Grass 
blood,"  remarks  Covington,  eagerly.  "  Lecomte,  who 
was  foaled  in  my  own  region  but  trained  down  here, 
and  Lexington,  who  has  been  fed  on  blue  grass  all 
his  life.  And  true  Blue  Grass  wins!  Old  Kentucky 
forever!  Old  Kentuck  wins  !  Lexington!  Lexington!  " 

This  cry  is  taken  up  all  along  the  home-stretch! 
The  Louisville  girls  on  the  grand  stand  are  waving 
scarfs  and  handkerchiefs  and  clapping  their  hands, 
and  from  up  the  course  there  comes  the  Kentucky 
yell,  for  Lexington  has  won  the  first  heat. 

"I  have  half  gained  my  gloves  already,  "remarks  the 
young  lady,  "would  you  like  to  compromise  on  half  ? 
Say,  Cousin  Bob,  would  you  like  to  compromise  ?  " 

"You're  a  th  t  if  ty  soul,"  laughs  the  proud  and  happy 
Covington,  "with  one  of  your  horses,  Arrow,  distanced, 


BOB    COVINGTON  1 9 

and  out  of  the  race."  "But  I  would  not  compro- 
mise any  of  my  bets.  I  shall  have  as  much  pleasure 
in  giving  you  the  gloves  as  I  will  have  in  taking  twenty 
thousand  dollars  from  the  gentlemen  about  here,  who 
don't  seem  to  appreciate  that  Kentucky  produces  the 
best  horseflesh  and  the  prettiest  girls  in  the  world." 
Then  looking  at  the  fair  face  that  is  gazing  rather 
quizzically  into  his,  he  murmurs  gallantly,  his  eyes 
growing  bright  with  admiration.  "  All  except  one,  my 
Cousin  Lou,  the  Rosebud  of  Louisiana  !  " 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   SECOND   HEAT. 

Then  comes  the  excitement  between  heats,  the  mak- 
ing of  new  wagers,  and  arranging  of  different  odds. 

"  I  think  I'll  step  over  and  hear  about  the  betting, 
just  for  a  minute,  Cousin  Louise,"  remarks  the  Ken- 
tuckian.  "Besides,  I  would  like  to  see  how  our  nag 
works  out  after  this  heat." 

In  pursuance  of  this  idea,  Mr.  Covington,  elbowing 
his  way  across  the  track  and  passing  the  grand  stand, 
very  shortly  finds  himself  at  the  saddling  paddock, 
which  is  a  little  to  the  rear  and  somewhat  to  the  right 
of  the  grand  stand.  Clustered  about  the  entrance  to 
this  Walhalla  of  horseflesh,  to  which  admission  can 
only  be  obtained  by  permission  of  the  Jockey  Club, 
is  a  crowd  of  frantic  bettors,  stablemen,  touts  and  the 
riff-raff  of  the  race-course,  who  are  very  anxious  to 
know  what  chances  the  other  horses  have  in  the  second 
heat,  for  which  the  odds  have  already  changed,  Lex- 
ington being  now  a  favorite  over  the  field.  As  Coving- 
ton pushes  his  way  through  this  throng  and  obtains 
entrance  to  the  wished-for  land,  he  is  gazed  after  with 
hatred  by  some  and  envy  by  all. 

"By  the  Lord  Harry !"  mutters  a  broken-down  sport- 
ing man.  "These  bloods  always  get  the  inside  infor- 
mation! These  chaps  that  put  up  the  many  dollars 
have  a  pull  over  us  that  put  up  the  few  dollars." 


20  BOB    COVINGTON 

"  Sacre  Dieu !  That's  what  has  ruined  me,  Mon- 
sieur!" mutters  an  old  weazened-looking  man  of  Creole 
accent,  parchment  face,  and  piercing  black  eyes.  "I 
have  lost  on  every  race  this  Spring  meeting.  Now  I 
can  only  play  my  little  game — which  is  a  fair  one,  gen- 
tlemen— will  you  not  bei  upon  it  ?     The  selecting  of 

the  jack  when  I  shuffle  them  so "  and  he  begins  a 

game  of  three-card  monte  into  which  he  would  lure  the 
lookers-on.  ''Will  you  not  bet?  See,  it  really  is 
simple.  I  throw  them  about  so!  You  have  the  ad- 
vantage. Your  eyes  watch  my  hands;  your  glance  is 
quicker  than  my  movements,  for  I  am  growing  old.  I 
will  give  you  the  odds,  two  to  one.  You  name  the 
jack  as  I  shuffle  them." 

But  the  other  mutters:  "I'll  be  cursed  if  I'll  be 
skinned  on  cards  as  well  as  on  horses!  And  with 
niggers  round  me,  too!"  Then  he  cries,  "Get  out.  ye 
coons!  Get  out  o' here!"  For  a  number  of  darkey 
stable-boys  and  grooms  have  gathered  about,  and  the 
irate  gamester  moves  away,  driving  these  sons  of  Ham 
from  his  path  and  cursing:  "By  all  the  Philistines, 
every  nigger  in  town  is  out  here  !  There  won't  be  a 
woolly-head  in  our  hotel  to  wait  on  the  table  this  even- 
ing!" 

In  the  paddock,  Covington  finds  the  elite  of  the 
sportsmen  of  that  day,  in  all  the  varied  joys,  hopes, 
and  fears  of  a  great  race  which  is  as  yet  undecided. 
They  are  gathered  about  the  horses,  discussing  the 
heat  and  watching  their  nags  sweat  out.  The  Ken- 
tucky party,  among  whom  are  Talliaferro,  Ten  Broeck, 
and  Colonel  Bruce,  are  inspecting  Lexington,  as  the 
bay  colt  is  being  walked  up  and  down  under  blankets 
by  a  negro  groom.  The  Mississippi  party,  who  have 
not  yet  lost  hope,  Lecomte  having  made  a  very  fair 
showing,  are  gathered  about  Colonel  Wells  and  his 
gallant  chestnut.  Alabamians  are  trying  to  keep  up 
their  courage,  talking  about  the  "  bottom  "  of  High- 
lander, for  he  has  still  another  chance.  It  is  the 
Louisiana  party,  among  them  young  La  Farge,  for 
whom  there  is  no  balm  in  Gilead.  Their  horse,  the 
distanced  Arrow,  is  being  sent  to  his  stables,  followed 
by  old  Abe,  his  jockey,  who  is  sobbing  bitterly  and 


BOB    COVINGTON  2  1 

cursing  the  mud  that  has  told  so  heavily  against  the 
light-limbed  gelding  that  has  carried  the  bulk  of  sugar 
money. 

The  Kentucky  party  Bob  joins,  and  they  go  to  dis- 
cussing their  nag  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  happy 
boys,  Talliaferro  crying  that  their  colt  is  sweating  out 
beautifully  and  will  be  as  lively  for  his  second  heat  as 
a  mosquito  in  spring,  and  Ten  Broeck  adding:  "I'm 
glad  to  hear  tha%"  for  I've  bought  him— all  of  him! 
This  pride  of  my  State  is  now  mine — all  mine!"  the 
joy  of  the  owner  of  great  race-horses  coming  into  the 
sportsman's  eyes. 

Then  one  of  them  suddenly  says:  "  Great  Taylor! 
Look  at  Col.  Wells!  He's  taking  that  negro  jockey, 
John,  off  by  himself.  They're  holding  a  consultation. 
Look  at  that  darky's  face  as  his  owner  speaks  to  him! 
The  next  will  be  a  desperate  heat!  " 

"Well,  all  the  talk  in  the  world  won't  make  that 
track  light,"  replies  Covington.  "This  india-rubber, 
gutta  percha  mud,  twenty  pounds  of  it  sticking  to 
every  horse's  hoofs  is  what  makes  it  dead  sure  for  us." 

After  alittle  he  turns  to  go  back  to  the  fair  young 
lady,  the  glory  of  whose  eyes  still  lingers  in  his  mind, 
and  tell  her  he  thinks  her  gloves  are  very  safe. 

As  he  comes  out  of  the  paddock,  however,  he  is  de- 
tained by  the  old  French  three-card  monte  man,  who, 
stepping  in  front  of  him  bows  and  says:  "Monsieur, 
you  are  a  member  of  the  Kentucky  party?  " 

"Yes;  don't  I  look  like  it?  Who've  the  happy  faces 
on  the  track  to-day?  Blue  Grass  boys!" 

"Then,  Monsieur,  can  you  give  an  unfortunate  a 
little  information?  " 

"Yes,  if  it  won't  take  fifteen  seconds  to  do  it." 

"Please  step  aside  with  me,  Monsieur.  I  am  in 
despair.  I  have  lost  more  than  I  can  afford  upon 
the  horse  that  is  going  to  the  stable."  And  there  are 
tears  in  the  old  man's  eyes  that  make  the  Kentuckian 
pity  him — though  the  picture  before  him  is  not  a  pleas- 
ant one.  Old  age,  decrepit,  broken  down,  though 
the  soft  manners  of  the  Creole  suggest  the  man  is  more 
educated  and  refined  than  his  present  appearance  indi- 
cates.    His  dress  of  black  broadcloth  has  once  been 


2  2  BOB    COVINGTON       . 

fashionable.  It  is  very  neat  and  clean  now,  but  the 
elbows  of  the  coat  and  the  knees  of  the  trousers  are 
shabby-genteel  to  shininess. 

"  I  have  but  one  pleasure  in  life,  monsieur — betting. 
The  only  one  left  me." 

"Yes,  so  I  presume.  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  "  re- 
marks Covington,  anxious  to  get  through  with  the 
interview. 

"  You  can  tell  me  how  to  place  my  money. " 

"Well,  I  never  saw  a  horse-race  that  was  dead  sure, 
but  with  that  mud  on  the  track-  go  and  inspect  it,  and 
if  it's  as  heavy  as  it  seems  to  me,  you  can  back  the 
horse  with  the  big  fore  shoulders.  You  know  what 
nag  I  mean — the  one  that  won  the  last  heat.  By 
mathematics  Lexington  has  now  two  chances  to  one 
against  any  other  horse;  by  horseflesh  sense,  ten  to  one 
on  this  muddy  track." 

"Thank  you,  Monsieur;  I  shall  never  forget  the 
tip,"  murmurs  the  Creole  monte  man. 

"I  never  give  tips,"  replies  the  Kentuckian.  "I 
simply  give  advice  founded  on  common  sense  and  horse 
knowledge.  Only  don't  curse  me  if  Lexington  gets 
knocked  down — that's  about  the  only  thing  that'll  beat 
him." 

With  this,  he  elbows  his  way  through  the  crowd,  on 
his  way  to  the  side  of  Miss  Louise  Tournay.  But  as 
he  passes  the  grand  stand  he  is  detained  again:  this 
time  in  a  much  more  pleasant  manner.  A  very  beau- 
tiful young  lady,  magnificently  arrayed,  with  the  soft 
hazel  eyes  and  sunny  brown  hair  so  peculiar  to  Ken- 
tucky's daughters,  and  a  rounded  form  which  unites 
the  beauties  of  Venus  and. the  graces  of  Hebe,  bars  his 
way  with  detaining  parasol,  and  murmurs  plaintively, 
"Mr.  Covington,  are  you  not  going  to  stay  and  re- 
joice with  us  ? — over  our  great  horse  !  " 

"  I  could  rejoice,"  replies  The  gentleman,  gallantly, 
"with  Miss  Sally  Johnson,  without  anything  else  to 
make  me  happy." 

But  Miss  Johnson  does  not  get  the  benefit  of  tete-a- 
tHe,  though  perchance  she  would  like  it;  for  Bob 
seems  to  be  as  popular  with  the  ladies  of  his  region  as 
with  the  gentlemen.      In  a  jiffy  he  is  surrounded  by 


BOB    COVINGTON  23 

Blue  Grass  girls,  all  of  them  wearing  Lexington's  col- 
ors, and  all  of  them  happier  than  any  one  should  be 
this  side  of  heaven. 

To  them  he  must  give  the  latest  news  from  the  pad- 
dock; to  them  he  is  compelled  to  make  engagements 
for  the  grand  ball  this  night  at  the  St.  Charles  Hotel. 

But  though  bright  eyes  gaze  into  his  and  pretty  lips 
whisper  to  him  and  he  has  enough  beauty  around 
him  to  drive  average  manhood  to  distraction,  Bob 
does  not  forget  the  charming  young  lady  who  sits  in  the 
barouche  upon  the  opposite  side  of  the  track.  Very 
shortly  he  is  standing  beside  Cousin  Louise  and  taking 
off  his  hat  to  Mrs.  Joyce,  to  whom  he  says:  "Wouldn't 
you  like  me  to  put  a  little  wager  for  you  on  the  race  ? 
You  should  have  a  bet  !  No  lady  should  be  without 
one  to-day  !  I  can  win  a  year's  glove-money  for  you, 
as  easy  as  jumping  off  a  log  !  Say  the  word  and  let 
me  put  a  little  bet  for  you,  Madame." 

"Bet  for  m'etu  gasps  the  astonished  chaperone. 
"My  dear  sir,  I  never  bet  in  my  life  !"  Then  she 
adds,  in  prim  severity:  "I  have  not  been  brought  up 
to  gamble!" 

"  No,"  remarks  Miss  Louise,  playfully,  "  Mrs.  Joyce 
has  conscientious  scruples  about  betting  and  also  in 
regard  to  another  peculiar  institution  of  our  Southern 
life.     She  comes  from  Vermont." 

"  Oh  ! — Ah  !  I  understand.  She  doesn't  know  that 
the  only  happy  people  down  South  are  those  who  have 
got  no  care  and  are  taken  care  of,"  laughs  the  Ken- 
tuckian.  "Why  Mrs.  Joyce,  I  envy  Mr.  Caesar,  my 
body-servant.  He  hasn't  half  my  work  to  do;  he  gets 
his  board  and  clothes  as  well  as  I  do,  and  never  won- 
ders where  the  money'll  come  from;  and  that's  all  any 
of  us  get  in  this  world.  But  the  horses  are  coming  up, 
and  judging  by  the  look  on  darky  John's  face,  he  is 
determined  to  win,  if  Lecomte  can  do  it !  " 

A  moment  later  Covington,  who  must  be  talking  or 
doing  something,  remarks:  "I'll  tell  you  a  curious 
story  about  that  negro  jockey.  It  is  rumored  round 
the  stables  that  his  owner,  Col.  Jeff.  Wells,  went  down 
to  see  John  and  tell  him  he'd  got  to  win  the  race,  and 
asked  him  what  kind  of  wager  he'd  like,  to  make  him 


24  BOB    COVINGTON 

dead  sure  to  try  his  very  level  best.  Darn  me  if  the 
boy — he's  a  foolish  fellow,  half-witted,  I  think,  except 
as  regards  horses — didn't  ask  him  if  he  couldn't  bet 
himself  agin'  the  victory." 

"Bet  himself?"  shrieks  Mrs.  Joyce.  "What  do 
you  mean  by  that  ?  " 

"Well,  darky  John  meant  if  he  won  he  was  to  have 
his  free-papers.  And  I  tell  you,  he  made  Colonel  Wells 
cry.  Wells  broke  out  and  said:  'Haven't  I  been  the 
best  master  on  earth  to  you,  John  ?  Did  you  ever 
want  anything  in  the  universe  ?  Darn  me,  haven't  I 
always  given  you  all  the  money  you  wanted  to  spree 
and  get  drunk  on  out  of  the  racing  season  ?  Hasn't 
your  mammy  got  the  best  cabin  on  the  plantation  ? 
Don't  you  do  as  you  darn  please  ?  Don't  you  boss  me  ? 
Don't  you  know  I'll  take  care  of  you  as  long  as  you 
live,  and  bury  you  when  you're  dead  ?  '  " 

"'  That's  all  right,  sir,' replied  the  boy.  'I'll  not 
leave  you  for  anything,  as  long  as  you  live.  But  I  was 
just  thinking  if  you  died/ky/,  I'd  like  to  pick  out  the 
next  stable  I  ride  for;  though  you've  got  me  as  long  as 
you  want  me,  living  or  dead.  I'd  be  your  jockey  and 
you'd  be  my  master  if  I  had  a  hundred  thousand  dollars 
and  free-papers.' 

"  'And  by  Jove!'  remarked  Wells,  who  is  as  noble  a 
fellow  as  there  is  anywhere,  k  Boy,  you  can  have  it!' 
So  that  darky  is  riding  to  win  himself.  But  he's  got  to 
lose!  The  mud  is  too  heavy  on  that  track  for  John  to 
get  a  chance  to  make  a  darned  fool  of  himself  to  day." 

This  oration  is  cut  short  by  the  excited  Louise,  who 
cries,  clapping  her  hands:  "  Oh,  the  drum  has  tapped! 
They're  off  the  second  time!  Highlander  is  ahead — 
your  horse,  Cousin  Bob!" 

"No;  Lecomte!  Lecomte  is  first!  By  the  Goddess 
of  Liberty  and  Uncle  Sam  !"  ejaculates  the  Kentuckian, 
"  How  that  darky  jockey  is  riding!" 

"  Yes!  Riding  for  freedom  !  "  snaps  out  Mrs.  Joyce 
at  him. 

So  they  go  on,  all  lapped  together,  for  two  miles. 
People  gasping  with  excitement,  boys  cheering,  girls 
screaming,  as  one  or  the  other  of  the  horses  takes  the 
lead;  men  growing  pale,  and  one  or  two  darky  stable 


BOB    COVINGTON  25 

lads  butting  their  woolly  heads  together  from  very 
nervous  excitement. 

Now  the  horses  are  in  the  third  mile,  Lecomte  still 
leading.  Highlander  is  making  his  rush  to  pass  Lex- 
ington, but  he  can't  get  there,  for  the  bay  now  makes 
his  brush  also,  and  the  mud  soon  flies  from  the  Kentucky 
colt's  hoofs  in  the  faces  of  both  the  Alabama  and  Mis- 
sissippi horses.  • 

■•'  It's  Kentuck  once  more !"  cries  Covington.  "  Both 
Blue  Grass  bred,  but  only  one  Blue  Grass  trained  and 
Blue  Grass  all  over!  Oh,  what  a  State  we  have! 
Cousin  Lou,  come  up  and  see  our  State!" 

But  Cousin  Lou  has  a  dozen  pairs  of  gloves  on  the 
race,  and  that  is  what  her  vivacious,  sprightly,  feminine 
spirit  is  devoted  to  at  this  moment.  She  is  crying: 
"Oh,  they're  at  the  third  quarter;  it's  the  last  mile! 
Gracious,  they're  locked  together!  Which  is  going  to 
win  ?  Oh,  merciful  goodness  !  My  horse  is  being 
beaten!  '  and  her  lovely  cheeks  grow  pale. 

The  pale,  consumptive  boy  on  Lexington  is  now 
calling  on  his  horse.  The  mud  is  telling  against  the 
Southern  nag,  Those  great  foreshoulders  of  the  son 
of  Alice  Carneal  are  pulling  him  through  the  ind  a- 
rubber  track  of  the  Metairie  Jockey  Course  fatally 
well! 

But  darky  John  is  riding  to  win  himself!  He  won't 
give  up,  and  plies  his  game  mount  with  whip  and  spur! 
So  the  two  come  tearing  on,  Lecomte  and  Lexington, 
side  by  side  like  quarter-horses.  Again  the  cries  of 
' '  Mississippi !  "  and  * '  Kentucky !  "  fill  the  air. 

A  moment  after,  the  cries  are  all  "Kentucky!" 
and  there  is  a  gray-faced  darky  jockey  on  a  beaten 
horse  four  lengths  behind  Lexington,  as  he  wins  the 
final  heat  of  that  great  race,  which  has  been  turf  talk 
for  many  a  day  before  and  will  be  so  for  many  a  day 
thereafter. 

But  Mississippi  men  won't  accept  the  test.  "  It  was 
the  heavy  track!  Lecomte  was  not  trained  for  mud  ! 
We  live  in  a  decent  climate  down  here!  "  exclaim  some 
of  his  backers. 

"We'll  do  it  over  again!"  remarks  Lexington's 
owner  blandly. 


26  BOB    COVINGTON 

"  Done!  "  cries  Colonel  Wells,  as  genuine  a  turfman 
as  ever  owned  a  horse.  And  he  backs  his  nag  Lecomte 
against  the  Kentucky  champion  for  another  race,  to  be 
run  upon  the  coming  Saturday.  With  this  he  steps 
over  to  the  paddock,  where  Black  John  is  standing 
rather  ruefully  as  the  chestnut  Lecomte  is  being  led 
away  to  the  stable. 

"  Please  don't  think  it  my.  fault,  Colonel  Wells,  for 
I  rode  for  my — my  life,"  says  the  boy  eagerly;  then 
adds:  "  It  war  the  mud.  Yo'  know  de  colt  hasn't  had 
a  heavy  track  for  his  training." 

"I  imagine  you're  right,  John,"  says  his  owner, 
"though  the  horse  that  beat  him  is  a  good  one,  too. 
But  I'm  going  to  give  you  another  chance  next  Satur- 
day. The  track  will  probably  be  light  and  dusty  by 
that  time,  and  perhaps  these  Kentucky  cockadoodles 
won't  have  so  much   to  crow  over  then." 

"  Bet  de  same  bet,  Massa  Jeff  ?  "  asks  Black  John 
breathlessly, 

"Certain!  You  shall  have  another  chance  to  win 
yourself,  just  the  same  as  that  colt  shall  have  another 
to  be  considered  the  best  horse  in  America.  No,  don't 
thank  me — "  For  the  boy,  forgetful  of  the  difference 
in  race  and  station,  is  clasping  his  owner's  hand  and 
muttering:  "God  bless  you,  Colonel  !  I'll  train  my- 
sel'  as  well  as  de  horse  fo'  dat  race.  You  can  bet  yo' 
money  !     I'm  a-ridin'  for  my  freedom  !  " 

"Why  one  would  think  I  had  been  a  bad  master  to 
you,"  says  the  Colonel  grimly,  "  when  you  know " 

"Yo'  have  been  de  best  on  earth,  sir,  and  I'll  ride 
fo'  you  till  you  die.  But  I've  set  my  heart  on  owning 
myself,  dat's  all — dat's  all." 

The  veteran  turfman  brushes  his'hand  over  his  eyes 
as  he  turns  away.  Then  he  sees  something  in  the  face 
of  his  jockey  that  makes  him  return-to  the  betting 
ring,  though  he  has  lost  very  heavily  on  to-day's  trans- 
actions, and  begin  to  make  his  book  on  the  coming 
race,  backing  his  own  colt  very  freely  and  very  heavily 
at  the  odds  that  are  offered  him;  for  Lexington  is,  of 
course,  a  favorite  for  the  new  event. 

A  few  minutes  after,  it  is  buzzed  about  that  the 
Jockey  Club  has  offered  a  two-thousand-dollar  purse, 


BOB    COVINGTON  27 

in  addition  to  the  side  bets,  and  the  two  sons  of  Boston 
will  fight  it  out  over  again  one  week  from  this  day. 

This  is  delightful  news  for  all  the  storekeepers  on 
Canal  street,  the  proprietors  of  all  the  magazines  of 
the  French  quarter.  The  boss  of  every  gambling 
house  rejoices  and  every  Boniface  is  happy,  because 
this  means  that  most  of  this  large  concourse  that  have 
been  drawn  to  the  city  by  this  great  race  will  remain 
to  see  another  great  race  and  make  this  first  week  in 
April  as  brilliant  as  Carnival  and  Mardi  Gras,  scatter- 
ing their  money  among  the  New  Orleans  tradesmen 
and  greasing  with  American  dollars  the  wheels  of 
local  business. 

44  La  semaine  prochaine  will  be  grand.  The  hotels 
will  be  full.  The  young  ladies  who  have  graced  the 
grand  stand  to-day  will  probably  favor  my  bazaar  of 
Parisian  novelties,"  remarks  Pierre  Larost,  of  the 
Magasin  de  Sud,  to  Kitson  Jarvis,  his  social  confrere 
at  billiards  and  dominoes.  < 

It  is  a  curious  intimacy;  for  Monsieur  Larost  is  of 
Creole  blood,  small  of  stature,  and  has  a  French  face, 
while'  Mr.  Jarvis  is  a  great,  big-limbed,  uncouth  crea- 
ture, comes  from  Cincinnati,  and  has  a  peculiarly 
shrewd  Yankee  physiognomy.  But  both  these  gentle- 
men are  useful  to  each  other,  not  only  socially,  but  in 
the  way  of  trade;  Mr.  Jarvis  doing  a  small,  but  rather 
smart,  attorney's  business,  chiefly  among  sea-captains 
and  shipmen,  his  office  being  near  the  levee,  and  Mon- 
sieur Larost  keeping  shop  upon  the  Rue  Royal.  Con- 
sequently Kitson  has  been  able,  from  his  acquaintance 
with  sea-captains,  to  secure  a  good  many  customers 
for  the  Frenchman's  wares.  Larost,  in  re 'urn,  has 
frequently,  through  his  knowledge  of  the  Creole  popu- 
lation of  the  city,  been  of  service  to  Mr.  Jarvis  in 
some  of  the  petty  lawsuits  that  have  come  into  his 
hands. 

The  two  together,  like  everybody  else  in  New 
Orleans  to  whom  it  has  been  possible,  have  made 
a  holiday  of  this  day  and  are  now  strolling  across 
the  race-track  preparatory  to  their  return  to  the  city. 
This  evening  they  will  have  a  game  of  billiards,  after 
a  dinner  at  Mme.   Duparc's  cafe  on  Bourbon  street, 


28  BOP?    COVINGTON 

and  perhaps  wind  up  at  Mr.  Tom  Placide's  Variety 
Theatre,  or  possibly  at  one  of  the  French  playhouses, 
as  Mr.  Jarvis  has  succeeded  in  acquiring  the  dominant 
language  of  the  Creole,  finding  it  very  useful  to  him  in 
his  various  business  affairs. 

Forced  by  the  crowd,  they  are  now  pretty  close  to 
Bob  Covington  and  one  or  two  of  his  friends,  to  whom 
the  young  man,  excited  by  the  enthusiasm  of  victory, 
is  remarking: 

"  This  has  been  a  great  day  for  old  Kentuck!  And 
I'm  the  luckiest  man  on  the  track." 

''Well,  come  and  get  into  our  cabriolet  with  us,"  re- 
turns Talliaferro.  You  can  expand,  enthuse,  and  blow 
your  trumpet,  my  boy,  as  we  drive  into  town." 

"  You'll  excuse  me,  Colonel;  that's  what  I  came  to 
see  you  about,"  remarks  Bob.  "  I  have  accepted  the 
offer  of  my  cousin,  Miss  Louise  Tournay,  and  her 
chaperone,  Mrs.  Joyce,  to  drive  into  town  with  them." 

"  You're  going  to  stay  over  for  next  Saturday's 
event  ?"  asks  one  of  the  young  men. 

"Stay  over?  I  could  live  and  die  in  Louisiana; 
only  give  me  such  racing  and  such  girls!  Of  course  I 
stay  over!  By  the  by,  La  Farge,  I  owe  a  supper  at 
the  Orleans  to  you  and  friends.  I  hope  all  you  gentle- 
men will  consider  yourselves  invited  ;  supposing  we  call 
it  next  Wednesday.  And  now — good-bye,  for  the 
present.  No;  not  even  a  julep!  My  cousin  must  not 
be  kept  waiting  even  for  a  parched  throat." 

With  this  the  Kentuckian  moves  off.  Though  he 
does  not  know  it,  he  has  a  follower.  The  minute  he 
has  announced  himself  as  the  cousin  of  Miss  Louise 
Tournay,  Mr.  Kitson  Jarvis,  after  one  start  of  astonish- 
ment, has  drunk  in  every  word  Cousin  Bob  has  uttered. 

With  a  muttered  "  Excuse  me,  Larosl ;  I'll  meet  you 
at  the  cars  in  a  few  shakes  of  a  lamb's  tail,"  the  at- 
torney makes  his  way  as  best  he  can  through  the  surg- 
ing crowd  and  succeeds  in  keeping  in  sight  the  tall 
form  of  the  Kentuckian,  though  he  does  not  get 
very  near  him.  However,  he  can  see  Mr.  Covington 
distinctly  as  he  steps  up  to  the  barouche  in  which 
Mrs.  Joyce  is  seated  by  the  side  of  her  charming 
charge. 


BOB    COVINGTON  29 

Putting  his  eyes  on  the  group  and  finally  getting 
nearer  to  them  just  as  their  carriage  drives  off,  this 
gentleman  of  the  law  notes  the  ardent  admiration 
in  the  Kentuckian's  face  as  he  gazes  at  the  beautiful 
young  lady  sitting  as  his  vis-a-vis.  Then  he  catches 
the  enthusiastic  Bob's  words  as  he  says:  "  Of  course 
we  race  -next  Saturday,  Cousin  Louise;  we  must  all 
drive  out  together  and  back  Lexington  again!" 

Then,  gazing  at  the  supreme  loveliness  of  the 
lady,  so  daintily  arrayed  and  talking  so  vivacious  :y 
to  the  gentleman,  Mr.  Kitson  Jarvis  mutters  to  hh  .- 
self  these  astounding  words:  "By  heaven,  he's 
a  lucky  man!"  Next  laughs  to  himself  sneeringly: 
"Won't  that  chap  jump  out  of  his  boots  when  I  tell 
him  my  little  tale  ?  " 

Apparently  the  lawyer  has  his  "little  tale  "  still  on 
his  mind  when  he  joins  his  friend  Larost  at  the  cars, 
for  his  words  are  few,  and  he  goes  into  a  brown  study, 
to  his  companion's  astonishment.  For  Mr.  Kitson 
Jarvis  is  generally  a  man  of  a  good  deal  of  small  talk, 
and  has  a  habit  of  telling  facetious  stories,  perchance 
not  over  delicate,  but  usually  having  a  good  deal  of 
brutal  point  to  them. 

Entirely  unaware  of  the  attorney's  interest  in  him, 
Mr.  Bob  Covington  contrives  to  make  a  very  pleasant 
journey  of  it,  chatting  breezily  to  the  ladies  as  they 
drive  slowly  into  town,  the  concourse  of  carriages  upon 
the  shell-road  preventing  any  attempt  at  speed. 

"We'll  have  a  great  week  of  it  !  "  he  remarks,  airily. 
"The  week  between  the  races.  Neither  you  nor  I, 
Cousin  Lou,  know  New  Orleans  very  well ;  we'll  do  the 
town!"  unheeding  the  suggestion  of  Mrs.  Joyce, 
who  remarks  that  young  men  and  young  ladies,  espe- 
cially among  the  Creole  population,  are  not  supposed 
to  go  wandering  about  together. 

"That  may  be  all  very  well!"  replies  Bob, 
promptly,  when  they  are  not  relatives!  But,  you 
see,  Miss  Tournay  and  I  are  first  cousins,  Mrs.  Joyce. 
Besides,  has  not  Cousin  Louise  a  chaperone  in  you  ? " 

"I  think  that  you,  Pamela,  will  cover  all  the 
ground,"  remarks  the  young  lady.  "First  cousins, 
only  relatives  in  the  world,  and  your  watchful  eyes!" 


JO  BOB    COVINGTON 

She  says  this  archly,  patting  her  companion's  hand. 
"  Besides,"  she  continues  vivaciously,  noting  that  her 
conversation  makes  the  young  Kentuckian's  face  happy, 
and  perhaps  being  willing  to  please  him  by  this  time, 
"I  have  not  been  brought  up  exactly  in  the  Creole 
manner.  My  experience  at  Miss  Martin's  boarding 
school  in  New  York,  where  you  looked  rather  strictly 
after  me,  Pamela,  has  given  me  some  different  views; 
and,  above  all,  the  ties  of  blood " 

"Yes;    but    not   very  close  ones,"   suggests   Mrs. 

Joyce.       "Not  close  enough  to "      The   rather 

prim  lady  bites  her  lips  at  this  point,  for  Cousin  Bob's 
face  has  grown  a  little  red  and  Miss  Louise  has  put  on 
a  very  pretty  blush. 

"That's  true!"  cries  the  Kentuckian.      "We're  just 

near  enough  together  to  be right !  "    Then  he  goes 

on  in  his  fly-away  manner :  "  I  wouldn't  be  your  brother, 
Cousin  Louise,  to  oe  Samson  and  Goliah  of  Gath  com 
bined." 

By  this  time,  the  carriage  having  driven  up  to  the 
family  house  of  the  Tournays  on  Dauphine  Street,  Mr. 
Robert  Covington  assists  the  ladies  out,  perchance 
holding  his  cousin's  hand  a  little  longer  than  her  chap- 
erone's  as  he  bids  them  adieu  at  their  door. 

Even  as  he  turns  away  he  is  made  very  happy.  Miss 
Louise,  taking  a  step  toward  him,  says:  "  You  have  no 
engagement  this  evening,  I  hope,  Cousin  Bob  ?  " 

Then  Cousin  Bob  lies — he  knows  he  has  half  a  dozen ; 
but  he  answers:   "  Not  a  one!  " 

"  Very  well ;  suppose  you  come  and  see  us  en  famille. 
Perhaps  we  may  become  a  little  better  acquainted." 

"  That's  the  talk!  "  replies  the  gentleman  heartily; 
"though  I  feel  very  cousinly  now"  And  he  does,  as 
he  takes  the  dainty  hand  that  is  extended  toward  him 
again  in  his  and  gives  it  a  little  family  squeeze,  and 
strides  off  to  St.  Charles  Hotel  where  he  has  rooms — 
the  happiest,  dashiest  and  most  run-away  Kentuckian 
in  all  that  town,  and  New  Orleans  has  many  of  them 
this  day  in  which  the  pride  of  their  State  has  beaten 
the  next  best  nag  in  the  world. 

As  he  strides  down  Dauphine  Street  the  sharp  eyes 
of  Mr.  Kitson  are  still  upon  the  young  man.     Having 


BOB    COVINGTON  -         3 1 

arrived  in  town  a  little  ahead  of  him,  and  knowing 
the  locale  of  the  Tournay  town  house,  the  attorney  has 
watched  Mr.  Covington  assisting  the  ladies  from  the 
carriage;  he  has  noticed  the  Kentuckian's  eyes  as  he 
has  bid  the  girl  farewell;  he  has  observed  her  won- 
drous beauty,  and  he  thinks:  "Byjehosh!  If  she  isn't 
a  sky-rocket!"  then  cogitates:  "That  letter  from 
California  is  already  overdue ;  it  must  be  here  soon ! 
If  it  doesn't  come,  I'll  speak  to  him  anyway  before  this 
fortunate  young  buck  gets  out  of  New  Orleans.  By 
Joseph  and  his  brethren!  this  may  be  the  most  tarna- 
tion lucky  stroke  of  legal  business,  Kit,  you've  struck 
in  the  Crescent  City." 


CHAPTER  III. 

BLUE  GRASS  GIRLS. 

Prompt  to  his  appointment  this  evening,  Mr.  Robert 
Covington  handles  the  knocker  at  the  spacious  portals 
of  the  Tournay  residence. 

He  is  apparently  expected. 

The  door  is  opened  almost  immediately  by  a  bright- 
eyed, bright-skinned  mulatto  girl,  who  courtesies  to  him 
saying:  "  Glad  to  see  yo',  Mistah  Bob  !  Does  us  all 
good  to  have  a  gent'man  of  the  Tournay  blood  roun' 
dis  house  ohce  more.  I'se  Lorena,  Miss  Louise's 
maid." 

''Well,  Lorena,  I'll  tell  my  man,  Mr.  Caesar,  what 
a  pretty  girl  there  is  about  here.  Shouldn't  wonder  if 
Mr.  Caesar  turns  up  pretty  often  with  messages  from 
me,  after  he  has  seen  you,"  laughs  the  Kentuckian  in 
the  easy  way  common  to  Southerners  of  that  period, 
when  family  servants  were  almost  as  much  a  part  of  the 
family  as  the  family  itself,  and  the  tremendous  social 
gulf  of  blood  and  class,  permitted  a  careless  familiarity 
between  master  and  slave,  who  by  no  accident  could 
ever  change  their  stations. 

"Why,  Mr.  Caesar  has  seen  me  already,  sir.  He 
brought  a  bouquet  from  yo'  about  half  an  hour  ago, 


32         -  BOB    COVINGTON 

with  a  note  for  Miss  Louise,"  giggles  the  girl.  "  Mr. 
Caesar's  now  in  the  kitchen,  sir.  We're  treating  him 
right  smart.  It's  a  great  thing  for  the  Tournay  family 
servants  to  all  get  together  once'  more,  sir.  Mr. 
Caesar  says  he  feels  just  as  much  to  home  as  if  he'd 
been  born  here,  sir!  " 

"Yes;  I  have  no  doubt  Mr.  Caesar  is  making  him- 
self at  home.  He  has  a  habit  of  doing  it  with  me!  " 
laughs  Covington,  as  he  is  ushered  into  the  court- 
yard of  the  house,  which  is  made  pretty  by  growing 
bananas  and  tropical  shrubs  and  has  a  little  fountain  in 
its  centre.  On  each  side  of  the  front  entrance,  which 
is  arched  and  runs  through  to  the  patio,  two  flights  of 
stairs  in  old-fashioned  style  in  the  courtyard  lead  to 
the  second  floor,  upon  which  the  reception  rooms  are 
located.  Ascending  one  of  these  the  young  man  is 
ushered  into  a  pretty  parlor  full  of  old-fashioned  bric- 
a-brac,  furniture  and  pictures,  some  of  its  adornments 
dating  from  the  time  of  Louis  Quinze. 

Here  a  few  minutes  after  he  is  welcomed  by  his  cousin 
and  her  chaperone,  Miss  Louise  extending  her  hand 
very  cordially  and  Mrs.  Joyce  bowing  in  prim  gracious- 
ness. 

After  a  few  minutes'  general  conversation  Pamela, 
remarking:  "I  have  a  little  embroidery  to  do  this 
evening,"  steps  into  another  salon  only  separated  from 
this  one  by  portieres,  to  devote  herself  to  her  worsted 
frame  upon  which  she  is  embroidering  in  colored  wools 
a  flower-piece  which,  though  admired  at*  that  day,  is 
now  one  of  the  admitted  monstrosities  of  art. 

Seated  in  this  room,  Mrs.  Joyce  is  with,  and  yet  apart 
from  her  charge.  The  chaperone  is  following  the  con- 
venances of  Louisiana  life  in  their  form  but  not  in  their 
spirit,  as  she  is  giving  Mr.  Robert  Covington  oppor- 
tunities of  tete-a-tete  with  a  young  lady  that  are  alto- 
gether beyond  the  precepts  of  Creole  etiquette. 

But  Pamela  Joyce  has  a  Yankee  way  of  looking  at 
the  affair.  She  reasons:  "They  are  first  cousins; 
he  is  the  only  gentleman  relative  Louise  has  in  the 
world.  Probably  they  have  family  matters  to  talk 
over,  in  which  my  immediate  presence  would  be 
a  restraint.     Any  way— what  does  it  matter?    These 


BOB    COVINGTON  33 

Creoles  treat  a  girl  as  if  she  were  not  to 
be  trusted,  and  I  know  Louise.  She  never  flirted 
at  Miss  Martin's  boarding  school,  though  half  the 
others  did.  Her  eyes  were  always  straight  ahead 
of  her,  whenever  we  marched  them  down  Lafayette 
Place  for  our  morning  walk." 

Noting  this  fact,  Mr.  Covington  for  a  moment 
wonders  if  some  hint  from  his  pretty  cousin  has 
produced  this  delicious  opportunity  of  private  con- 
verse, and  is  very  happy  over  the  idea.  But  a 
moment  after  he  forgets  everything  in  the  extreme 
beauty  of  the  young  lady  who  sits  before  him  and 
fascinates  his  very  soul. 

The  evening  dress  Miss  Louise  wears,  after  the  man- 
ner of  the  period,  has  added  the  charms  of  ivory 
shoulders  and  snowy  arms  to  the  graces  the  young 
lady  had  displayed  on  the  race-track.  It  is  a  pretty 
gown  of  white.  Made  almost  after  the  manner 
of  the  First  Empire  in  its  simplicity  of  detail,  it 
clings  about  her  and  displays  the  rounded  curves  of 
beauty  in  every  movement,  in  every  pose. 

Bob  also  notes  Miss  Louise's  tresses  are  banded  round 
her  graceful  head  and  tied  in  a  knot  a  la  Grecque. 
Two  little  Ionian  curls  float  down  on  one  side  of  her 
white  brow.  A  single  white  camellia,  set  in  her  soft, 
dark-brown  hair,  is  the  only  ornament  she  wears.  So 
Miss  Tournay  sits  before  her  new-found  cousin,  all  in 
pure  white,  even  to  petite  slippers  and  weblike  hosiery, 
of  which  the  short  gown  of  thaj  period  gives  Mr. 
Covington  one  or  two  rapturous  glimpses. 

But  it  is  not  the  young  lady's  beauty  that  is  pro- 
ductive of  all  this  effect  upon  the  young  gentleman. 
She  has  a  very  gracious  manner,  and  her  eyes  are  light- 
ing with  varying  emotions  as. these  ripple  one  after  the 
other  over  her  vivacious  features.  Her  smile  is  merry, 
her  laugh  is  hearty,  and  her  gestures  naively  piquant; 
though  as  he  looks  at  her  Mr.  Covington  cannot  help 
imagining  that  at  times  the  young  lady  may  be  distant 
and  even  haughty — peculiarities  of  her  disposition  of 
which  some  day  he  may  have  further  proof.  At  pres- 
ent, however,  Louise  is  amiability  personified,  and 
seems    very    happy    in   entertaining    her    new-found 


34  BOB    COVINGTON 

cousin.  She  sings  for  him  one  or  two  little  French 
chansons,  accompanying  herself  very  prettily,  and  asks 
him  if  he  has  heard  Jenny  Lind,  remarking:  "I  did 
once.  Miss  Martin  took  her  whole  boarding  school  to 
one  of  Mr.  Barnum's  concerts  at  Castle  Garden." 
Then,  for  variety,  she  warbles  a  soft  negro  plantation 
melody,  imitating  the  banjo  upon  the  piano,  after  the 
manner  of  Monsieur  Gottschalk,  who  is  at  this  time  the 
rage,  remarking  about  this  celebrated  exponent  of 
sensuous  melody:  "  You  know  he  is  a  Creole -himself, 
born  here  in  New  Orleans. " 

A  moment  after,  perhaps  to  give  the  young  gentle- 
man a  chance  to  talk,  Louise  asks,  suddenly:  "  Do  you 
dance  ?  " 

"  Do  I  dance  ?"  cries  Bob,  anxious  to  make  a  show- 
ing for  himself.  "  Do  I  dance y  Cousin  Lou?  Ask  the 
Louisville  girls. " 

"The  Louisville  girls?"  remarks  the  young  lady 
contemplatively;  but  adds  airily:  "I  am  not  acquainted 
with  them."  There  is  a  trace  of  pique  in  her  voice, 
her  delicate  lips  tremble.  Then  she  says,  slowly  : 
"Suppose  you  tell  me  a  little  about  yourself  and  the 
Louisville  girls.     Eh,  Cousin  Bob  ?  " 

Louise  has  swung  around  upon  the  piano  stool. 
Her  piquant  nose  is  gradually  going  into  the  air;  her 
eyes  have  almost  a  reproach  in  them. 

"Oh,  blow  the  Louisville  girls!"  cries  Covington, 
uneasily,  "Let  us  talk  about  ourselves,  you  and  I, 
Cousin  Lou." 

And,  this  seeming  to  set  him  right  with  the  young 
lady,  they  wander  into  a  very  genial  and  somewhat 
confidential  conversation,  each  telling  the  other  a  good 
deal  about  their  past  experiences  and  a  little  about 
their  future  hopes;  Mr.  Covington  informing  his  cousin 
that  he  has  been  educated  at  Princeton,  but  had  left 
a  post-graduate  course  at  that  college,  recalled  to 
his  Kentucky  homestead  by  the  sudden  death  of  his 
father  and  mother  in  the  cholera  epidemic  of  1850. 

"  For  the  last  year  or  two,"  he  says,  "  having  got 
my  farm  into  the  best  of  order,  I  have  been  ranging 
about  and  seeing  a  little  of  the  world.  I've  done 
Charleston,  Washington,  New  York,  and  Philadelphia, 


BOB    COVINGTON  35 

and  have  even  seen  the  top  of  Bunker  Hill  Monument; 
but,  supposing  you  say  something.  How  did  you  like 
your  New  York  school  ?  Tell  me  all  about  yourself 
since  you  were  knee  high,  Cousin  Louise." 

"  Oh,  that  won't  take  long,"  answers  Miss  Tournay. 
"My  mother  died  just  after  Nita's  birth,  when  I  was 
seven  years  old.  After  that  I  ran  wild  on  the  planta- 
tion, the  pet  of  all  the  darkies,  negro  mammies  and 
all  that.  Papa  was  too  engrossed  in  his  science,  his 
books,  and  his  poetry  to  give  such  a  little  girl 
very  much  attention.  You  know,  down  in  Assump- 
tion and  La  Fourche,  Papa  was  called  '  Savant  Tour- 
nay'  by  the  country  people." 

"  Yes,  but  afterward  ?  "  asks  the  gentleman. 

"Afterward?"  murmurs  the  girl.  "Afterward,  I 
went  away  to  school." 

Then  the  young  lady  goes  on  to  tell  her  listener 
that  for  six  or  seven  years  before  her  father's  death  she 
and  her  younger  sister  Nita  were  placed  at  Miss  Mar- 
tin's academy  in  New  York.  Wh"ile  in  that  institution, 
to  them  had  come  the  news  of  their  father's  sudden 
death  by  accident,  about  a  year  and  a  half  ago.  That 
when  she  had  returned  to  Louisiana  she  had  left  her 
sister  Nita  still  at  school,  but  had  induced  Mrs.  Joyce, 
one  of  the  assistant  teachers  at  Miss  Martin's,  to  take 
the  trip  with  her,  not  caring  to  make  the  long  journey 
alone;  remarking:  "  Since  then,  Pamela,  that  is,  Mrs. 
Joyce,  has  been  kind  enough  to  live  with  me  at  beau- 
tiful Beau  Rivage." 

Then  she  makes  her  hearer  very  happy  by  adding: 
"You  brag  of  your  Blue  Grass  region;  you  should  see 
our  beautiful  Atchafalaya — and  see  it  you  shall  and 
must,  some  day,  Cousin  Bob!" 

Looking  at  the  young  gentleman  as  he  sits  before 
her  in  the  elaborate  evening  dress  of  a  beau  of  the 
period,  his  trousers  very  tight,  though  very  much 
spread  out  over  his  patent-leather  boots,  his  waistcoat 
white  as  snow,  his  immaculate  ruffled  shirt  and  his 
swallow-tail  coat  with  high-rolled  velvet  collar,  Miss 
Louise  thinks  Mr.  Covington,  with  his  broad  shoulders, 
frank  manner,  and  honest,  laughing  blue  eyes,  a  very 
gallant  and  handsome  relative. 


36  BOB    COVINGTON 

A  moment  after,  perchance  from  some  feminine 
coquetry — perhaps  just  to  see  how  he'll  take  it — she 
strikes  the  Kentuckian  a  deft  little  blow  below  the  belt 
as  she  murmurs:  "But  we  now  think  of  going  to 
Paris,  where  my  sister  Nita  can  complete  her  edu- 
cation." 

"  Going  to  Paris?  "  ejaculates  Covington,  aghast. 

"Yes;  very  soon.  Monsieur  Martineau  has  advised 
it."  Then  she  affrights  her  hearer  by  remarking  de- 
murely: "  Do  you  know  I  rather  imagine  he  would  pre- 
fer that  I  married  in  Europe?  Un  beau  parti — eh, 
Cousin  Bob? "  And  she  smiles  archly  at  the  gentle- 
man. 

But  Cousin  Bob  bursts  out:  "  What!  A  French  jack- 
a-dandy  of  a  husband  for  you?  Mr.  Martineau's  French 
blood  makes  him  too  kind  to  Parisians!  The  Blue  Grass 
bucks  are  the  dandies  for  an  American  girl  like  you! 
When  you  have  once  seen  Kentucky  in  its  glory,  at  a 
State  fair  or  race  meeting,  you  will  never  think  of  Paris 
or  Parisians  or  French'  horses  again!" 

But  though  Mr.  Covington  may  decry  Paris  and  the 
Parisians,  his  trachea  seems  to  have  a  lump  in  it  for  a 
day  or  two  afterward,  whenever  he  thinks  of  "  un 
beau  parti. "  Perchance  he  would  even  go  away  dejected, 
did  not  the  young  lady,  gazing  on  his  rather  woe-begone 
countenance,  now  raise  him  to  the  seventh  heaven  of 
delight,  as  she  says  very  cordially:  "You  suggested, 
Cousin  Bob,  that  we  do  the  town  together.  What  do 
you  say  to  a  visit  to  the  market  to-morrow  morning, 
Sunday?  About  nine  o'clock,  I  believe  is  the  fashion- 
able hour,  if  Mrs.  Joyce  will  kindly  assist  us  to  Creole 
propriety." 

"  Done !  "  cries  the  Kentuckian.  "  Here's  my  hand 
on  it,"  and  Miss  Louise's  pretty  digits  get  a  grateful 
squeeze,  as  the  two  walk  in  and  ask  Pamela  if  she  will 
play  chaperone  at  a  jaunt  to  the  market. 

To  this  request  the  lady  gasps :  ' '  Sunday !"  What  are 
you  thinking  of,  Louise? "  and  would  doubtless  make 
refusal  did  not  at  this  moment  Lorena,  with  a  courtesy, 
announce  Monsieur  Arvid  Martineau. 

"  I  had  called  to  see  you  at  your  hotel,  to  welcome 
you  to  our  city,  Mr.  Covington,"  remarks  the   French 


BOB    COVINGTON  37 

gentleman,  after  he  has  greeted  the  party,  "  but  learn- 
ing from  your  friend,  Colonel  Talliaferro,  that  you  had 
come  to  visit  your  cousin,  I  gave  myself  the  same  pleas- 
ure and  followed  you  here." 

"And  just  in  time!"  cries  Louise.  "Justin  time 
to  explain  to  Mrs.  Joyce  that  it  is  quite  the  proper 
thing  to  visit  the  market  on  Sunday  morning."  Then 
she  adds,  with  feminine  subtlety,  "You  know,  Mon- 
sieur Arvid,  that  Cousin  Bob  has  asked  me  to  go 
with  him,  but  without  Pamela  it  is  a  social  impossibil- 
ity."  This  she  embellishes  with  a  very  pretty  little 
moue  that  apparently  wins  the  French  gentleman. 

The  trustee  of  the  Tournay  estate  immediately  says: 
"My  dear  Mrs.  Joyce,  you  need  have  no  hesitation 
in  playing  chaperone.  A  visit  to  the  old  French  market 
is  nearly  as  much  de  rigueur  here  on  Sunday  mornings 
as  going  to  mass." 

"  That's  the  kind  of  talk  I  like!  Martineau,  I  am 
forever  obliged  to  you,"  cries  the  young  Kentuck- 
ian,  "and  will  be  more  obliged  to  you  if  you  will  join 
the  party.  Now  I  think  of  it,  we'll  do  the  market, 
take  breakfast  at  Victor's  Caf6,  Creole  fashion.  After 
that  we'll  run  down  and  view  the  New  Orleans  battle- 
field. My  grandfather  fought  there  under  Jackson, 
but  he  didn't  fall  there,  thank  God!  Then  we'll 
drive  out  to  the  Spanish  fort,  there  we  will  dine  and 
look  at  the  lake,  and  in  the  ear^y  evening  come  home 
along  the  shell-road.  What  do  you  think  of  that  for  a 
day  ?  It  is  my  party,  you  are  my  guests,  and  I'll  take 
refusal  from  no  one  of  you." 

"I  accept  with  all  my  heart,"  says  the  French  gen- 
tleman. "  I  have  several  important  papers  to  look  at 
to-morrow,  but  I  throw  them  aside  at  your  invitation." 

Though  Pamela  would  raise  her  voice  deprecating 
Sunday  outings,  that  worthy  lady  finds  herself  over- 
whelmed, especially  by  the  French  avocat,  who  practi- 
cally says  she  must  go.  He  seems  very  anxious  to  put 
the  two  young  people  together  as  much  as  possible. 
In  fact,  after  Mr.  Covington  and  Miss  Louise  have 
strolled  off  into  the  other  parlor  and  got  to"  their  tete- 
a-tete  business  once  more,  Martineau  very  frankly  states 
this  to  the  chaperone. 


38  BOB    COVINGTON 

"You  and  I,"  he  says,  "my  dear  Mrs.  Joyce,  will 
make  a  quiet  day  of  it  together.  But  we  will  let  these 
young  cousins  enjoy  each  other's  society." 

"Don't  you  think  it  is  putting  them  very  much  to- 
gether? "  whispers  Pamela,  pursing  her  lips. 

"  I  wish  them  together.  It  is  for  Louise's  interest 
that  she  should  be  on  very  good  terms  with  her 
cousin.  He  is  a  fine  young  man,  thank  God!"  This 
last  is  said  with  much  more  earnestness  than  the  case 
apparently  warrants,  and  makes  Pamela  gaze  at  him 
surprised  as  he  goes  on  in  explanation :  "He is  Louise's 
only  male  relative.  To  his  protection  she  must  turn 
some  day,  perchance,  both  on  her  own  account  and 
that  of  her  little  sister. " 

"  Pooh !  "  says  the  schoolmistress  grimly.  "  By  that 
time  Louise  is  sure  to  be  married." 

"Sure  to  be  married!     What  makes  you  say  that?" 

"Well,  I  have  been  a  schoolmistress  a  good  many 
years,  and  I  know  the  kind  of  girls  who  get  married 
soon.     Louise  is  one  of  them." 

"  Nevertheless,"  answers  Martineau,  <4 1  think  it 
very  important  that  you,  Madame,  do  everything  in  your 
power  to  bring  about  all  possible  good  will  between  a 
young  lady,  whose  interest  I  have  as  much  at  heart  as 
you,  and  the  young  gentleman  who  is  at  present  feasting 
his  eyes  upon  her  beauty,  and  giving  her  hand  a 
cousinly  and  tender  squeeze. "  He  shrugs  his  shoulders 
in  his  Gallic  way  and  utters  a  slight  chuckle,  as  he 
turns  his  eyes  into  the  other  room,  for  this  is  exactly 
what  Mr.  Robert  Covington  is  doing  to  Miss  Louise 
Camours  Tournay. 

A  few  minutes  afterward  the  lawyer  rises  and  says: 

"Will  you  not  walk  along  with  me  towards  my  resi- 
dence and  my  office,  where  I  hope  to  have  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  you  very  shortly,  Monsieur  Covington  ? " 
Then  looking  at  the  elaborate  array  of  the  young  man, 
he  adds :  "I  suppose  you  will  favor  the  ball  at  the  St. 
Charles  with  your  presence.  Miss  Johnson  of  Louis- 
ville, the  great  belle  of  your  part  of  the  country,  with 
whom  I  was  conversing  not  over  an  hour  ago,  stated 
that  she  had  promised  you  the  honor  of  a  dance — the 
first  waltz,  I  believe." 


BOB    COVINGTON  39 

"Oh,  of  course,  Sally  Johnson;  yes!  By  Jove,  I 
had  forgotten  all  about  her!  I  must  be  going!  "  cries 
Bob,  suddenly. 

At  this  they  all  burst  out  into  a  little  laugh,  and 
Martineau  says:  "  Mon  Dieu !  Miss  Johnson,  the 
very  richest  and  most  beautiful  girl  in  all  Kentucky, 
and  he  treats  her  so? "  A  remark  that  brings  a  very 
happy  look  into  Louise's  pretty  eyes. 

And  she  is  very  happy;  for  a  few  minutes  after  the 
gentlemen  have  taken  their  leave  she  runs  up  to  her 
chamber  and  cries  to  her  maid:  "Oh,  mercy,  Lorena! 
What  am  I  to  wear  to-morrow  ?  He  is  coming  at  nine 
o'clock !  What  am  I  to  wear  ?  Make  me  as  bright, 
dainty,  cheerful,  and  alluring  as  you  can.  My  Cousin 
Bob  is  coming  to-morrow  morning."  . 

"  'Deed  I  will,  Miss!  Yo'  will  beat  a  bird  of  para- 
dise! There  ain't  no  young  lady  in  the  French  quarter 
that  can  hold  up  her  nose  with  yo'  if  yo'  will  let  me 
have  my  will  on  you.  Laws!  If  Cousin  Bob  was  proud 
of  yo'  to-day  he'll  be  prouder  than  a  thousand-bale 
planter  to  morrow  morning." 

And,  this  kind  of  talk  seeming  to  please  the  young 
lady,  Miss  Louise,  very  shortly  after  this,  placing  her 
fair  head  upon  the  snowy  pillows  of  her  dainty  couch, 
closing  her  eyes  in  drowsy  contentment,  murmurs 
softly  through  her  coral  lips:  "Cousin  Bob,"  and 
goes  into  happy  dreamland. 

As  for  the  gentleman  whose  name  she  has  mentioned, 
he  walks  along,  chatting  pleasantly  with  the  French 
attorney,  for  they  have  both  got  on  a  subject  they 
wish  to  talk  about:  i.  e.,  the  beautiful  girl  who  has  just 
said  good-night  to  them. 

' '  Isn't  my  cousin  Louise  a  wonder ! "  remarks  Coving- 
ton to  the  attorney.  ' '  Did  you  ever  see  such  luck  ?  Saw 
the  most  beautiful  woman  on  the  race-course,  asked 
her  name,  and — by  George —  found  she  was  my 
cousin.  " 

"Yes;  Mademoiselle  Louise  is  very  beautiful — and 
her  little  sister  Nita  is  also  a  very  pretty  child;  she  is 
thirteen  now.  Both  are  so  very  attractive,  I— I  some- 
times fear  for  their  future,"  murmurs  Martineau  with  a 
slight  sigh. 


40  BOB    COVINGTON 

"Fear  for  their  future?  Why  so?  The  prettier  a 
girl  is  our  way,  the  better  chance  she  has  of  picking  up 
a  fine  young  fellow. " 

"Well,  you  see,"  answers  the  avocat,  ''their father's 
death  left  the  young  ladies  in  a  very  unfortunate 
position.  They  are  almost  without  friends,  and  have 
no  near  relatives  except  you.  " 

"  Tournays,  and  without  friends — in  Louisiana!  I 
can  hardly  understand  that." 

"  Yes;  almost  without  friends,  because  they  are  un- 
known. Their  father,  Mr.  Covington,  was  a  very  pe- 
culiar man.  Prosper  Delaunay  Tournay,  even  in  his 
younger  days,  though  a  harum-scarum  dandy  about 
town  was  a  poet  and  a  dreamer,  but  after  his  sister's — 
your  mother's — marriage  and  departure  for  Kentucky, 
these  eccentricities — if  I  may  call  them  that — were 
accentuated  and  became  more  pronounced  as  he  grew 
older.  He  buried  himself  on  his  plantation,  Beau  Ri- 
vage,  except  when  he  was  on  a  smaller  place  of 
his,  near  Guidrys  in  La  Fourche  Parish,  which  was 
convenient  to  him,  being  close  to  the  bayous,  marshes 
and  swamps  about  Barataria  Lagoon,  where  he  was 
engaged  in  collecting  specimens  of  the  birds,  reptiles, 
and  animals  of  Louisiana.  For,  among  other  pursuits 
of  Tournay  was  that  of  natural  history,  which  brought 
him  his  sudden  death!" 

"How  so?" 

"He  wanted  a  red  ibis,  and,  too  lazy  to  load  his 
gun,  ordered  a  darky  to  load  it  for  him.  Cuffy  put 
two  charges  in  one  barrel,  and  Prosper  Tournay  never 
knew  what  hurt  him.  The  consequences  of  his  eccen- 
tricities were  that  his  children  were  brought  up  wild  on 
the  plantation,  until  they  were  removed  to  Miss  Martin's 
school  in  New  York,  eight  years  ago.  As  a  result,  Tour- 
nay's  early  friends  in  New  Orleans  forgot  him ;  therefore 
the  young  ladies  are  practically  known  to  no  one  here 
but  myself,  who  have  charge  of  the  affairs  of  the  estate, 
and  to  you,  their  new-found  relative,  whom  I  am  de- 
lighted to  meet,  and,  thank  God ! — find  so  respected  and 
honored  by  both  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  of  your 
native  State.  Miss  Johnson  spoke  of  you  in  the  kind- 
est manner — but  we  are  at  Custom  House  Street.  I 
must  say  au  revoir." 


BOB    COVINGTON  4* 

"By  Jove,  I  must  also  bid  you  good-bye;  otherwise 
Miss  Sally  Johnson  may  not  speak  so  kindly  of  me  the 
next  time  you  see  her,"  laughs  Bob.  "I  expect  I'm 
about  due  at  the  hop  at  the  St.  Charles." 

Shaking  the  old  gentleman  cordially  by  the  hand, 
Mr.  Covington  steps  out  rapidly  for  the  great  hotel, 
cogitating:  "  Martineau  must  have  been  making 
inquiries  about  me,  not  only  from  the  gentlemen  but 
from  the  ladies  of  my  native  State.  Well,  I'm  not 
afraid  of  investigation.  What  Bob  Covington  does  is 
above  board.  He  makes  his  mistakes  openly  and  does 
his  little  wickednesses  with  frankness  and  dispatch." 

A  few  minutes  after  he  enters  the  melange  of  belles 
and  beaux  that  are  thronging  the  parlors  of  the  superb 
hotel,  making  the  scene  one  of  great  magnificence  and 
splendor,  for  the  elite  of  most  of  the  States  south  of 
Mason  and  Dixon's  line  are  there  in  all  their  "before- 
the-war"  glory. 

Fortunately  he  is  in  time  to  do  his  dance  with 
Miss  Johnson.  But,  though  Miss  Sally's  hazel  eyes 
are  very  beautiful,  and  her  charming  figure  rounded 
most  gracefully,  her  shoulders  and  arms  white  as  driven 
snow,  and  her  costume — imported  for  the  occasion — 
exquisite  in  detail  and  gorgeous  in  ensemble,  the  Louis- 
ville beauty  does  not  seem  to  have  any  great  effect 
upon  her  partner  as  he  trips  his  measure  with  her. 
And  for  that  matter,  neither  do  the  conversation  nor 
the  charms  of  the  many  delightful  young  ladies  he 
meets  that  evening  affect  the  dashing  Bob  very  greatly, 
though  he  seems  in  the  best  of  spirits. 

"They  are  all  very  well,"  he  thinks,  after  stepping 
a  polka  with  Miss  Amy  Peyton  of  Virginia,  and  taking 
Miss  Laura  Singleton,  of  South  Carolina,  into  supper — 
"but  I  know  one  who  suits  Bob  Covington  a  leetle 
better!" 

After  an  hour  or  two  of  this  he  strolls  away  with 
his  friend  La  Farge  to  St.  Cyr's  where  he  and  some 
other  young  bucks  have  made  up  a  game  of  poker; 
but  Mr.  Covington,  though  generally  great  at  this 
sport,  plays  very  badly  this  evening,  and  loses  a  little 
of  his  turf  winnings. 

Even   this   does  not  destroy  the  buoyancy  of  his 


42  BOB    COVINGTON 

spirits,  for  at  the  hotel  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
just  before  he  turns  in,  this  gallant  young  sprig  says, 
looking  in  his  mirror:  "Oh,  you  lucky  dog!  The 
prettiest,  sweetest  cousin  on  earth!  The  little  dar- 
ling! And  the  hand  of  her! — dainty  enough  to  juggle 
sunbeams!  And  the  foot  of  her! — small  enough  and 
light  enough  to  jump  on  rosebuds  and  not  smash  their 
dewdrops!  And  to-morrow  a  whole  day  with  her! 
Maybe  Bob  Covington  isn't  shouting,  but  he  IS ! — loud 
enough  to  beat  the  calliope  of  a  Mississippi  steam- 
boat!" Then  he  looks  at  himself  astonished,  and  mut- 
ters: "  Great  Taylor!  You  villain,  you've  gone  back 
on  Blue  Grass  girls!" 


CHAPTER   IV. 

SUNDAY    MORNING    AT    THE    FRENCH    MARKET. 

But  this  reflection  on  the  charms  of  the  Blue  Grass 
girls  does  not  seem  to  weigh  heavily  on  this  gentle- 
man's conscience.  He  gets  up  very  brisk,  enthusiastic, 
and  "chipper,"  as  his  body-servant,  Mr.  Caesar,  re- 
marks when  he  calls  him  at  half-past  seven  in  the 
morning. 

"Move  along,  Caesar,"  cries  his  master  briskly,  as 
he  sips  his  coffee.  "  The  sun  is  out,  the  breeze  is 
right,  and  we'll  make  a  great  day  of  it!  "  This  gives 
a  financial  opening  of  which  the  darky  valet  promptly 
takes  advantage. 

"Yes,  sah,  yo'  may  make  a  great  day  of  it,  but  I'se 
kind  o'  low  down  in  the  pocket  to  make  a  great  day  of 
it,"  ruefully  suggests  Mr.  Caesar,  who  is  a  mulatto  gen- 
tleman of  very  crisp  hair,  dark  eyes,  white  teeth,  and 
dapper  figure,  with  a  melancholy  grin. 

"Low  down  in  the  pocket!  Great  crocodiles! 
Didn't  I  give  you  money  to  bet  on  the  horse-race  ? 
You  ought  to  be  in  funds  for  months!"  Then  Mr. 
Covington  adds,  turning  severe  eyes  on  his  factotum: 
"By  Daniel  Boone!  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  bet 
against  Lexington,  you  infernal  idiot  ?  " 


BOB    COVINGTON  43 

"  No,  sah !  I  ob  course  backed  the  Blue  Grass  colt, 
and  won  considerable,  sah.  But  last  evening,  after 
returning  from  Miss  Tournay's  residence,  I  was  in- 
veigled into  a  little  game  of  poker,  sah,  with  some  of 
the  Louisiana  gent'men,  sah — Mistah  Rufus,  Gen'ral 
Hampton's  man  ;  Mistah  Washington,  Major  Bee's 
factoter,  and  Mistah  Caucus,  Colonel  Jones's  body- 
servant,  sah.     And  they  cleaned  me  out,  sah." 

"So  that  accounts  for  your  not  being  here  when  I 
turned  up  last  night,"  laughs  his  master.  "You  played 
as  bad  a  game  as  I  did,  eh  ?  Well,  here's  a  V  for  you. 
Trot  off  and  give  Lorena  a  jaunt  about  town.  Do  the 
thing  up  handsomely  for  the  honor  of  old  Kentucky. 
You're  sparking  that  bright-eyed  wench  of  Miss  Tour- 
nay's,  I  imagine.  Oh,  don't  attempt  to  deny  it !  I  know 
what  your  grin  means.  And,  furthermore,  don't  in- 
dulge in  any  more  poker.  By  the  immortal  Simon 
Suggs,  do  you  want  to  ruin  me,  you  grinning  imp  of 
Eblis?"  For  Mr.  Caesar  has  received  the  five-dollar 
bill  with  an  unctuous  guffaw  and  a  tremendous  show  of 
the  ivories. 

"Yes;  give  me  that  slouched  hat — not  that  high 
tile,"  cries  his  master.  "This  is  not  Broadway  or 
Bleecker  Street  I'm  going  to  do  to  day! " 

Then  a  handsome  barouche,  with  a  pair  of  fine  trot- 
ters and  stylish  coachman  being  ready  for  him,  Mr.  Bob 
Covington  drives  over  to  the  Tournay  residence,  pick- 
ing up  on  his  way  Arvid  Martineau. 

"I  am  delighted  to  see  you  so  well,  Monsieur," 
remarks  the  French  attorney,  looking  at  the  handsome 
young  fellow,  noting  his  frank  face  and  countenance 
slightly  flushed  by  apparent  eagerness  and  expectation. 
Covington,  however,  as  he  returns  the  other's  gaze,  can- 
not help  thinking  that  the  lawyer's  eyes  are,  as  he  ex- 
presses it,  wistful.  In  fact,  all  this  day  Arvid  Marti- 
neau whenever  he  glances  at  the  young  man,  though  it 
is  often  with  pleasure  at  his  honest  utterances  and  very 
frequently  with  admiration  at  his  dashing  manner,  and 
sometimes  with  veritable  joy  as  he  sees  him  do  some 
act  of  gentlemanly  courtesy  to  his  pretty  cousin — and 
Bob  Covington  does  a  good  many  of  them  between 
sunrise    and    sunset — always   does    it  with    a    latent 


44  BOB    COVINGTON 

anxiety  in  his  look,  and  once  or  twice  almost  a  tear  in 
his  sharp,  though  kindly  eyes. 

A  few  minutes  after,  the  carriage  rolls  into  the 
courtyard  of  the  Tournay  residence,  the  massive  gates 
being  already  thrown  open  for  it.  Apparently  the 
ladies  are  expecting  them,  for  Mrs.  Joyce  immediately 
trips  down  the  stairway  from  the  second  story  and  re- 
marks as  she  greets  the  gentlemen:  "Louise  will  be 
here  in  a  moment.  I  believe  it's  her  bonnet  strings.  I 
think  she  wishes  to  make  a  very  perfect  toilet." 

* '  Please  don't  tell  tales  about  me,  Pamela, "  cries  Miss 
Tournay,  making  her  appearance  and  tripping  hurried- 
ly down,  a  flush  of  excitement  upon  her  fair  face,  for 
in  truth  the  girl  has  been  driving  her  maid  Lorena  to 
despair  this  morning,  nothing  being  Just  right.  Though 
it  surely  is  just  right  at  present,  for  no  prettier  picture 
ever  greeted  Mr.  Covington's  ardent  eyes  than  Miss 
Louise  as  she  extends  her  daintily  gloved  hand  to 
him  and  murmurs:  "I  hope  I  did  not  keep  you.  I 
am  as  anxious  for  le  Marchd  Fran$aise  and  breakfast  as 
you  are.'' 

"Not  at  all!"  answers  the  Kentuckian;  then  adds, 
gallantly:  "  Though  even  a  moment  of  your  society 
is  important  to  me ! "  his  earnest  glance  emphasizing 
his  remark. 

"Then,"  says  the  young  lady,  archly,  "I  must 
always  be  very  punctual  with  Cousin  Bob."  And  ac- 
cepting his  hand,  he  places  her  in  the  carriage  beside 
Mrs.  Joyce,  while  Martineau  and  he  take  seats  vis 
a  vis  to  them.  Then  the  equipage  drives  off,  and  pass- 
ing along  Dauphine  Street,  turns  down  Dumaine  Street 
straight  for  what  is  now  commonly  known  as  "the 
French  market." 

As  they  approach,  Miss  Louise  suddenly  exclaims: 
"  How  bright!     How  fascinating  !     How  vivacious!  " 

"  By  Martin  Scott's  coon,  what  a  crowd!  "  ejaculates 
the  Kentuckian. 

"Yes;  the  crowd  of  a  Sunday  morning  in  New  Or- 
leans," answers  the  French  Avocat,  as  the  carriage 
draws  up  and  Covington  springs  out,  anxious  for  a  touch 
of  Miss  Louise's  light  hand  as  he  assists  her  from  the 
carriage. 


BOB    COVINGTON  45 

And  he  is  right,  for  clustering  all  about  them,  com- 
ing up  St.  Philippe  Street,  moving  along  Decatur  Street 
thronging  from  St.  Anne  Street  and  also  from  the  early 
mass  of  the  nearby  cathedral,  in  one  heterogeneous  con- 
course, are  all  the  types,  classes,  and  nationalities  pe- 
culiar to  the  New  Orleans  of  before-the-war. 

Old  negresses  are  carrying  on  their  heads  baskets  of 
fruits,  dukes,  and  candies.  Dissipated  looking,  foreign 
catch-penny  fellows  are  tricking  boys  out  of  their 
picayunes  at  card  games.  Slaves  are  bartering  poul- 
try and  country  produce  from  their  own  plantation 
plots.  Fishmongers  from  Cook's  Bayou  are  calling  : 
"Oysters,  fresh  and  salt!"  Girls  of  all  sizes  and 
colors,  white,  black,  and  chocolate  are  selling  bouquets 
of  flowers.  Planters,  in  the  light  suits  of  the  tropics; 
mountain  men,  in  buckskin  suits  and  coonskin  caps, 
who  have  come  down  to  see  the  great  race  from  the 
far  off  prairies;  Texans  with  their  inevitable  slouched 
hats  and  Cubans  from  Havana  are  mixed  in  with  business 
men  from  New  York,  Philadelphia,  and  even  Chicago, 
which  is  just  now  beginning  to  make  itself  felt  in  the 
Western  world.  This  concourse  is  beautified  by  pretty 
girls  from  the  Gulf  towns,  Kentucky,  and  St.  Louis, 
who  have  all  come  to  see  the  great  race  and  remaining 
for  the  other  great  race,  are  now  enjoying  the  sights  of 
the  metropolis  of  the  Southwest. 

But,  if  the  costumes  are  diversified,  the  voices,  patois, 
and  languages  are  even  more  so,  varying  from  the 
sharp,  shrill  twang  of  the  Green  Mountain  boy  who 
has  Drought  some  fast  trotters  to  sell  to  New  Orleans 
sportsmen,  to  the  soft  rhythm  of  the  Creole,  the  bab- 
bling patois  of  French  and  Spanish  negroes,  the  peculiar 
lingo  of  the  Acadians,  who  are  peddling  Perique  tobacco, 
together  with  some  excited  semi-Indian  jabber  from  a 
few  remnants  of  the  Choctaws  and  Chickasaws  that  have 
not  entirely  been  effaced  from  the  soil  of  Louisiana, 
and  who  drive  a  thriving  business  in  beaded  work  and 
Indian  knick-nacks.  These,  mixed  with  the  sweet 
voices  of  pretty  girls  from  everywhere,  make,  as  Mr. 
Bob  Covington  expresses  it,  "a  roar  of  sound  that 
beats  the  Italian  opera  and  the  Tower  of  Babel  banged 
together!" 


46  BOB    COVINGTON 

Edging  their  way  carefully  and  followed  by  Mrs. 
Joyce  and  Monsieur  Martineau,  the  two  cousins  soon 
find  themselves  passing  under  strings  of  pineapples  and 
bunches  of  bananas  which  perfume  the  air.  But  the 
odors  of  the  fruits  are  as  nothing  to  the  fragrance 
of  the  flowers.  Cape  jasmines,  early  magnolias,  sprigs 
of  orange  trees  laden  with  both  blossoms  and  fruit, 
and  limes  from  Mexico  scent  the  air  from  neighboring 
flower  booths  adorned  by  potted  plants,  palms,  and 
flowering  shrubs. 

"How  beautiful!  How  delightful!  I  think  I'll 
come  here  shopping  every  morning.  Can't  I  do  the 
housekeeping,  Mrs.  Joyce  ?  "  laughs  the  young  lady, 
turning  her  head  toward  the  ex-schoolmistress,  who  is 
immediately  behind  her. 

"Yes;  I  rather  like  it  myself.  Let  us  come  down 
every  morning,  Louise;"  returns  the  chaperone — who 
has  a  Yankee  love  for  bargains — "  Coffee  at  three  cents 
a  cup"  having  just  struck  her  eye. 

"  Gracious!  You  can  buy  everything  here,"  exclaims 
Miss  Louise,  who  is  now  astonished  at  the  sight  of  a 
bazaar  of  fancy  goods,  clothing,  and  underwear. 

So  they  pass  on  in  the  Halle  des  Boucheres,  looking  at 
tempting  steaks  off  Texas  cattle  that  are  already  becom- 
ing celebrated;  past  fishmongers'  stalls  with  red-snap- 
per, sea  trout,  barracouta,  and  pompano,  diversified  by 
shrimps,  rosy  from  the  boiling  pot,  oysters  of  enormous 
size,  snails  ready  for  cooking,  frogs'  legs,  and  crabs  of 
wondrous  smallness. 

So  many  eatables  produce  an  effect.  The  Kentuckian 
says:  "  I  believe  I  suggested  that  we  breakfast  Cre- 
ole fashion.     Suppose  we  go  to  Victor's." 

"Anywhere  for  a  starving  girl,"  exclaims  Miss 
Louise. 

Therefore  they  stroll  out  of  the  market ;  the  babel  of 
many  patois,  many  languages,  and  many  tones  seems 
more  pronounced.  Above  them  stridently  comes  from 
negresses  with  little  cakes  fried  in  grease :  "  Bels  calas  ! 
Tout  chauds  J '  "  Others  are  screaming:  "  Belle  front- 
age a  la  creme!"  while  boys  are  yelling  "  Cinq  a  deux 
sous  !  " 

"  Mercy!  I'm  nearly  deaf !"  murmurs  Miss  Tournay 


BOB    COVINGTON  47 

as  the  Kentuckian  puts   the  ladies  into  the  carriage. 

He  is  about  to  order  the  driver  to  go  to  Monsieur 
Victor's  restaurant  on  Bourbon  Street,  when  Martineau 
remarks:  "  I  know  New  Orleans  better  than  you.  If 
you  will  permit  me  to  advise,  a  little  quiet  breakfast  at 
Madame  Labat's." 

This  will  probably  afford  him  a  better  opportunity  of 
tite-a-tete  with  the  beautiful  young  lady  who  is  looking 
into  his  face,  and  the  Kentuckian  jumps  at  the  sugges- 
tion. Then  the  coachman  makes  one  or  two  sharp 
turns,  and  draws  up  in  front  of  an  old-fashioned  Creole 
house,  and  very  shortly  afterward  the  party  find  them- 
selves on  the  second  floor  of  the  establishment,  in  a 
room  with  sanded  floor,  plain  wooden  furniture,  nap- 
kins and  lingerie  white  as  snow,  and  a  fat  Creole  woman 
effusively  and  gesticularly  suggesting  to  them  a  little 
breakfast  of  the  dainties  of  New  Orleans  cuisine. 

She  is  jabbering  French  to  Martineau,  who  acts 
as  interpreter  to  the  Kentuckian,  who  finally  says: 
"Tell  her  to  have  her  way;  though  I  believe  she  in- 
tends to  provision  us  for  a  campaign." 

Madame  Labat  having  left  them,  there  comes  to 
their  ears  an  excited  jabbering  with  the  French  cook 
in  the  next  room,  as  the  party  sit  and  look  out  on  the 
veranda,  which  is  filled  with  potted  plants  and  flower- 
ering  shrubs. 

"If  she  would  only  begin  at  something!  "  murmurs 
Miss  Louise,  plaintively;  and  a  moment  after,  their 
hostess  does. 

Their  palates  are  enlivened  with  red  shrimps  as 
appetizers.  Then  come  oysters,  fat  and  luscious, 
followed  by  crabs  a  la  Creole,  gumbo  soup,  pompano, 
a  fillet  au  Chateaubrien,  an  omelet  aux  fines  herbes  all 
these  being  "lubricated"  as  Bob  remarks  with  the 
celebrated  C.  C.  Claret.  This  meal  is  finished  by  the 
freshest  of  strawberries  in  their  leaves  and  on  their 
stems  after  the  French  fashion,  and  coffee — the  coffee 
of  New  Orleans — the  coffee  of  the  Creoles. 

This  pleasant  affair  takes  an  hour  or  two.  The  con- 
versation has  been  as  bright  and  pleasant  as  the 
meal  itself — all  seem  in  exuberant  spirits  except  Mar- 
tineau.    A  little  episode  now  comes  to  place  the  girl 


48  BOB    COVINGTON 

and   her   cavalier   rather   closer   together,    though   it 
hardly  appears  to  please  the  avocat. 

It  happens,  almost  as  they  finish  their  breakfast, 
Monsieur  Martineau  has  murmured  contemplatively: 
"I  hope  you  enjoyed  yourself  at  the  ball  last  evening, 
Mr.  Covington.  Were  you  in  time  for  your  dance  with 
Miss  Johnson?" 

"Yes,  fortunately,"  replies  the  young  man,  then 
laughs  with  Western  modesty,  "We  Kentuckians 
generally  are,  when  young  ladies  are  in  the  case." 

"I  suppose  the  ball  was  a  very  gorgeous  affair,"  re- 
marks Miss  Louise  suddenly,  then  adds:  "  Suppose  you 
give  me  a  little  description  of  the  fete?  " 

This  Bob  does,  winding  up  with:  "  It  was  the  big- 
gest show  of  diamonds,  feminine  dresses,  kickashaws 
and  highfalutins  I  ever  looked  on.  All  the  pretty  girls 
of  the  town  were  there — except  one. "  His  eyes  suggest 
to  whom  he  refers. 

For  a  moment  Mademoiselle  Louise  bites  her  pretty 
lip;  then,  suddenly,  what  is  in  her  mind  trembles  on 
her  tongue  and  comes  forth. 

"Don't  you  think,  Monsieur  Martineau,"  asks  the 
girl,  eagerly,  "  that  it's  about  time  for  me  to  go  to  balls  ? 
I  have  been  out  of  school  for  over  a  year." 

"Ah,  yes;  but  in — in  half  mourning,"  murmurs  the 
French  lawyer,  apparently  in  uncalled  for  consterna- 
tion. 

"Half  mourning?  Is  this  half  mourning?"  says 
Miss  Tournay,  archly,  looking  at  the  exquisite  toilet 
in  which  she  is  arrayed.  Though  not  of  brilliant  color, 
it  is  light,  pretty,  and  gay,  being  a  simple  white  mus- 
lin, trimmed  with  very  pale  pink  ribbons,  and  dotted 
here  and  there  with  sprigs  of  little  rosebuds.  Beauti- 
fully made,  fitting  her  graceful  figure  au  marvel,  from 
beneath  it  peep  two  little  French  bottines.  Above  it, 
on  her  fair  head,  is  a  piquant  Paris  bonnet  of  light 
straw,  adorned  with  a  few  of  the  same  flowers  that 
spray  her  dress.  Altogether,  it  is  a  simple  yet  very 
charming  costume  for  youth  and  beauty,  and  certainly 
not  suggestive  of  grief. 

Then  she  adds:  "Papa  has  been  dead  eighteen 
months.     Of  course  I  wish  to  do  all  that  is  right  in 


SOB    COVINGTON  49 

respect  to  his  memory.  But  everything  seems  so  joy- 
ous now,  why  should  I  not  go  to  balls,  as  other 
girls?"  She  looks  at  Martineau  with  an  alluring  but 
pleading  moue. 

"  And  you  shall  !  "  interjects  Bob,  suddenly. 
"  There's  a  ball  to  be  given  on  Thursday  evening  by 
the  Pelican  Club,  the  swellest  affair  in  New  Orleans. 
I  know  most  of  the  members.  I'll  get  you  an  invi- 
tation! " 

"  Thursday  night!  Oh,  heavens,  what  shall  I  wear?  " 
This  is  a  cry  of  almost  consternation  from  Mademoi- 
selle Louise.  Then  she  rattles  on,  joyously:  "But  I 
know  both  Mesdames  Olympe  and  Sophie  have  received 
new  stocks  of  robes  from  Paris  on  account  of  these 
races.  Oh,  they  can't  have  sold  them  all !  Monsieur 
Martineau,  to-morrow  morning  I  shall  buy  the  finest 
ball  dress  Madame  Olympe  has! " 

Then,  looking  at  the  attorney's  face,  which  has 
grown  very  gloomy,  as  he  is  whispering:  "Not  yet! 
Not  yet!"  she  falters:  "Oh,  don't  say  no!  You  can't 
say  no!  It  will  be  my  first  ball! — And  I  dance  very 
well.  Mrs.  Joyce  will  tell  you  at  Miss  Martin's  the 
professor  of  dancing  said  I  could  polka  and  waltz  as 
well  as  any  young  lady  in  the  establishment,  and  I'd — 
I'd  like  to  have  a  chance  to  show  my  Cousin  Bob  how 
well  I  do  dance !  " 

"By  the  Lord  Harry,  you  shall!  You  shall  dance 
with  Cousin  Bob  until  you're  black  in  the  face! "  cries 
the  Kentuckian ;  and,  looking  at  the  lawyer  savagely, 
who  is  apparently  about  to  dissent  again,  he  mutters: 
"Why  the  deuce  shouldn't  she  go?  It's  the  most 
exclusive  ball  in  New  Orleans  society." 

To  this  the  old  lawyer  does  not  reply,  but  murmurs: 
"We  will  see.  We  will  see,"  in  a  dazed  and  curiously 
abstracted  manner. 

"Yes,  we  will  see!"  cries  Louise,  clapping  her 
hands.  "We  will  see  what  fine  dresses  we  can  get  to- 
morrow. We'll  see  what  a  hole  we  will  make  in  the 
Tournay  bank  account!  We'll  see,  we'll  see!  Cousin 
Bob,  my  first  ball!"  And  she  goes  into  such  an 
ecstasy  of  expectant  delight  that  a  tear  comes  into 
the  eye  of  the  French  attorney,  though  his  face  has 


50  BOB    COVINGTON 

grown  very  white.  Then  she  laughs:  "  You  look  hor- 
rified, Monsieur  Martineau — horrified  at  the  size  of  the 
bills  I  am  going  to  send  in  to  you !  And  you're — you're 
in  a  brown  study — a  brown  study  at  the  frightfully 
expensive  young  lady  I  shall  be  when  1  am  in  society! 
The  Tournay  diamonds  shall  be  there!  I  know  there 
are  a  few  locked  up  in  the  strong  box.  Pamela,  you'll 
be  my  chaperone,  won't  you  ?     Oh,  a  polka,  a  waltz !  " 

And  the  girl,  rising  from  her  seat,  in  the  excitement 
of  the  moment,  trips  a  few  measures  with  exquisite 
grace  and  poetic  abandon,  until  Mrs.  Joyce  shrieks: 
M  Louise,  have  you  forgotten  it  is  Sunday?" 

''Yes;  but  I  must  rejoice!  I  have  entered  on  my  life! 
When  are  you  going  to  take  us  out,  Cousin  Bob?  You 
said  you  would  drive  down  to  the  battlefield,  then  to 
the  lake — I'm  told  Monsieur  Miguel's  cuisine  is  excel- 
lent. Dinner!  Next  a  drive  along  the  shell  road! 
Oh,  Cousin  Bob — Cousin  Bob!  All  the  way  I  shall 
be  thinking  about  that  ball  at  the  Pelican  Club!  You'll 
— you'll  get  me  lots  of  nice  partners,  won't  you? — and 
you'll  introduce  to  me  that  handsome  French  gentle- 
man, Monsieur  La  Farge,  and  that  great  turfman, 
Colonel  Talliaferro  of  your  State,  and  all  the  young 
beaux?  Young  Soule  and  Auguste  Maurey — Monsieur 
Martineau  pointed  out  some  of  them  at  the  race-course. 
And  oh,  Cousin  Bob,  I'm  going  to  the  ball!  " 

This  mention  of  partners  in  all  the  young  bloods  of 
New  Orleans  makes  Cousin  Bob  scowl  once  or  twice, 
but  he  says:  "Yes;  I'll  introduce  every  one  of  them. 
They'W  be  round  you  thick  as  bees  round  flowers. "  Then 
breaks  out:  "  Great  Heavens!  don't  you  suppose  I'm 
proud  of  my  new  cousin?  There  won't  be  a  girl  in  the 
ball-room  can  hold  a  candle  to  you !  You'll  be  as  great 
a  belle  as  that  little  French  girl  was  at  the  French  Hol- 
low shake  down  when  Tom  Burt  told  her  daddy  his 
daughter  was  a  screamer,  and  nearly  got  killed  for  the 
insult." 

He  would  go  on  effusively  in  this  strain,  did  not 
Mrs.  Joyce  say:  "Good  gracious!  Stop  talking  that 
way.     You  will  make  her  too  vain." 

"  He  can't  do  that,"  says  Louise,  airily.  "I'm  as 
vain   as  a  peacock  already.     I  admit  it — I  admit  it. 


BOB    COVINGTON  5 1 

When  such  a  cousin  is  doing  so   much  for  me,   who 
would  not  be  vain?" 

A  few  minutes  after,  they  pass  out  to  the  carriage 
again,  to  drive  to  Jackson's  battle-ground,  Miss  Louise 
all  this  day  harping  upon  the  ball  and  growing  happier 
and  happier  about  it.  And  Cousin  Bob  looking  at  her 
grows  happier  also. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE   SPECTER    OF    THE    PELICAN    BALL. 

"I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  able  to  tell  all  about  the 
battle  of  New  Orleans,"  remarks  Mr.  Covington  as 
they  drive  away.  "  My  grandfather  fought  in  the 
third  company  of  the  First  Regiment  of  Kentucky  rifle- 
men, but  that's  all  I  know  of  the  affair." 

"Then  permit  me  to  assist  you.  I  shall  enact  the 
role  of  oldest  inhabitant  and  play  cicerone,"  suggests 
Martineau,  attempting  a  playfulness  he  does  not  feel. 

"Very  well;  we  will  appeal  to  you  as  a  Creole 
guide-book,"  laughs  Mrs.  Joyce,  whom  the  breakfast 
has  placed  in  the  best  of  humor. 

"  Then,  first  and  foremost,  there  are  two  heroes  of 
this  battle  of  New  Orleans,  on  the  American  side: 
General  Jackson  and  Jean  Lafitte,  the  pirate." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  have  heard  of  him,"  remarks  Louise. 
"He  had  a  rendezvous  on  Barataria  Bay,  not  so 
very  far  from  Guidrys,  near  our  little  plantation  on 
Bayou  La  Fourche.  He  was"  a  pirate,  burned  and 
scuttled  ships,  made  men  walk  the  plank,  and 
buried  treasure — for  darkies  to  dig  for  and  never  find. 
Every  negro  on  our  plantation,  I  imagine,  has  had  a 
hunt  for  it  some  time  or  other  when  he  was  not  too 
busy  looking  for  'possums  and  'coons." 

"That  is  the  popular  idea  of  Jean  Lafitte,"  re- 
joins Monsieur  Martineau.  "But  some  Louisianians 
think  a  little  differently  about  him.  At  all  events,  he 
had  as  much  to  do  in  saving  this  State  to  the  American 
flag  as  any  one  who  lived  in  Louisiana,  and  possibly 
as  much  as  General  Jackson. 


52  BOB    COVINGTON 

' '  Originally  he  was  a  blacksmith  ;  his  forge  was  once  at 
that  corner ;  and  the  lawyer  points  up  towards  Bourbon 
Street  as  they  are  crossing  St.  Philippe.  "  Afterward 
Jean  Lafitte  threw  down  the  sledge-hammer,  sailed  the 
seas,  and  wielded  the  sword,  very  successfully  for  him- 
self. He  was  the  head  of  all  the  smugglers  of  this  region. 
Their  headquarters  were  at  Barataria  Bay,  as  you  say, 
Miss  Louise.  He  was  also  aprivateersman,  first  with  a 
letter  of  marque  from  the  French  crown  against  the 
Spanish  nation,  afterward  from  the  Republic  of  Colum- 
bia or  Carthagena,  which  had  just  taken  up  arms  for  lib- 
erty against  the  parent  State.  The  captured  Spanish 
merchantmen  brought  into  Barataria  Bay  were  numer- 
ous. Their  cargoes,  immensely  rich,  were  doubled  in 
value  by  being  smuggled  free  of  United  States  duties, 
into  New  Orleans,  to  be  sold  on  Levee  Street,  to  the 
despair  of  the  shopkeepers  of  his  day,  who  could  not 
compete  with  goods  that  originally  cost  nothing,  and  in 
addition  paid  no  duty. 

These  tradesmen  naturally  made  out  Monsieur 
Lafitte  and  his  brethren  as  no  better  than  they 
should  be,  branding  them  as  pirates,  cutthroats,  black- 
guards and  buccaneers.  And  perhaps  they  did  do  a 
little  of  that,  for  privateering  in  those  times  was  nearly 
the  same  as  piracy,  legalized.  At  all  events  the  United 
States  government  thought  so — though  whether  it  was 
to  protect  their  revenue  or  Jack  Tar  I  cannot  say. 
They  sent  an  expedition  against  him  under  Commo- 
dore Patterson,  with  orders  to  burn,  shoot,  and  destroy 
on  sight.  Monsieur  Lafitte  wisely  fled  from  the  ter- 
rors of  Uncle  Sam's  navy. 

"About  this  time,  naturally  supposing  he  was  filled 
with  rage  against  all  Americans,  Pakenham,  in  com- 
mand of  the  English  expedition  against  the  United 
States,  communicated  with  Lafitte  as  to  the  prospects 
of  an  attack  upon  New  Orleans.  Being  a  Frenchman, 
Jean  naturally  hated  the  English  even  more  than 
he  did  the  Americans  who  were  making  war  upon 
him.  By  his  skillful  negotiations  and  intrigue  the 
British  advance  on  New  Orleans  was  delayed  until 
General  Jackson  arrived  with  four  thousand  Tennessee 
and  Kentucky  militia." 


BOB    COVINGTON  53 

"Here  my  grandfather  enters  the  combat,"  inter- 
jects Covington,  laughingly.  "  First  Sergeant,  Third 
Company,  First  Regiment,  Kentucky  Militia." 

"Well,  Jackson's  four  thousand  Kentucky  militia, 
your  grandfather  included,  I  presume,"  continues 
Martineau,  "  were  in  a  very  bad  way.  They  did  not 
have  flints  for  their  muskets  or  rifles;  there  was  no 
fit  powder  and  ball  for  their  cannon.  These  were 
all  furnished  by  Lafitte  from  his  private  plunder. 
Then,  after  the  British  landed,  no  one  could  keep  a 
better  watch  on  their  movements,  because  no  one  was 
so  well  acquainted  with  the  shoals,  creeks,  and  bayous 
extending  from  Rigolets  and  Lake  Borgne  to  the  Bara- 
taria  Lagoons.  The  consequence  was  that  the  British 
advance  was  delayed  until  Jackson  got  his  breastworks 
erected,  his  cotton  bales  up,  and  his  guns  in  position 
down  at  Chalmette,  where,  having  done  their  scouting 
work,  Lafitte  and  his  band  joined  him  to  the  number 
of  five  hundred,  manned  his  battery  of  heavy  guns, 
with  the  use  of  which  the  Kentucky  and  Tennessee 
riflemen  were  unacquainted,  and  fought  in  a  way  that 
was  most  disastrous  to  British  arms.  The  flower  of 
England's  warriors  dashed  themselves  against  rifle 
balls  fired  by  marksmen  who  could  hit  squirrels  in  the 
eye  and  cut  off  the  heads  of  partridges  and  turkeys. 

"Valor  is  naught  against  cold  lead,  and  twenty-five 
hundred  of  the  veterans  of  the  Peninsula  War  under 
Wellington  went  down  before  backwoods  bullets. 
Pakenham  paid  for  his  rashness  with  his  life,  and  the 
New  Orleans  question  was  settled." 

"  My  grandfather  always  said  it  was  a  slaughter,  not 
a  battle,"  remarks  Covington.  "He  said  he  hated  to 
kill  brave  fellows  whose  foolhardy  general  never  gave 
'em  a  chance." 

"  But  curiously  enough,  Lafitte's  assistance  to  the 
American  cause  came  very  near  being  entirely  neutral- 
ized by  the  double-dealing  of  one  of  his  agents,"  adds 
Martineau.  "This  far-seeing  scoundrel,  putting  his 
eye  on  the  future,  saw  that  in  all  probability  if  the 
great  pirate  assisted  the  American  arms,  he  and  his 
followers  would  be  pardoned  by  the  government  of  the 
United  States;  that  being  permitted  to  settle  down  un- 


54  BOB    COVINGTON 

molested  with  their  accumulated  gains  w^ould  certainly 
disintegrate  the  band  from  which  he  was  making  a  good 
deal  of  money  by  acting  as  their  agent.  Accordingly 
the  despatches  of  General  Jackson  to  Jean  Lafitte  came 
very  near  not  being  delivered.  This  was  never  dis- 
covered until  a  year  afterward ;  if  it  had  been  found 
out  at  the  time,  Jackson  would  have  hung  the  agent  of 
Monsieur  Jean,  if  Lafitte  had  not  slaughtered  the 
traitor  himself.  It  would  have  probably  furnished  a 
new  yarn  for  the  novelists:  '  Lafitte's  last  butchery!' 
*  The  execution  of  Faval  Bigore  Poussin,'  '  The  Notary 
that  walked  the  plank! '" 

"  Oh,  I  knew  him!  "  cries  Louise,  opening  her  eyes. 
"  When  I  was  a  little  girl  Monsieur  Poussin  patted  me 
on  the  head.     He  had  small  dark  eyes,  and  was  dried 

up  and  yellow  and  looked  a  hundred  years  old But 

is  not  that  the  United  States  barracks?  "  and  she  points 
to  some  low  brick  buildings. 

A  few  minutes  after  the  carriage  drives  onto  the  plain 
of  Chalmette,  to  which  spot  a  good  many  tourists  are 
coming  this  day,  the  city  being  full  of  sight-seers. 

"  Goodness !  We're  already  on  the  battlefield !  "  re- 
marks Miss  Louise,  as  if  she  had  suddenly  awakened 
from  a  day-dream.  Then  she  says,  pointing  to  a 
structure  of  white  marble:  "  I  wonder  what  Jackson 
used  that  for  ?     Did  he  have  guns  up  there  ?  " 

"Gracious,  Louise!  That's  the  monument  being 
erected  to  commemorate  the  battle,"  ejaculates  Mrs. 
Joyce  in  school-mistress  horror.  "  Don't  you  remem- 
ber your  United  States  history  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't!  "  says  the  young  lady;  then  murmurs 
archly:  "You  know  I  was  always  at  the  foot  of  the 
class  in  history.  I  could  not  remember  it  then;  do 
you  think  I  can  remember  it  now,  when  I'v*  so  many 
more  pleasant  things  on  my  mind  ? " 

"Well,  that  ball  is  running  in  my  mind  also,"  says 
Covington,  as  the  party  alight;  for  this  young  gentle- 
man has  already  seen  himself  in  imagination  floating 
about  to  the  music  of  Mor  jeur  Julian,  with  the  pretty 
young  lady  who  is  walking  beside  him,  and  thinks  of 
the  admiration  and  envy  on  the  faces  of  La  Farge, 
Soul£,  and  the  other  bucks  of  the  Pelican  Club. 


BOB    COVINGTON  55 

Just  here  both  of  them  are  recalled  to  the  field  of 
carnage  by  Mrs.  Joyce  suddenly  coming  to  them  and 
saying:  "I  have  engaged  a  guide  who  declares  he 
fought  in  the  battle,  to  give  us  the  various  points  of 
interest  for  one  dollar." 

Gazing  at  Pamela's  discovery,  the  Kentuckian 
sees  the  three-card-monte  man  who  had  got  a  tip  from 
him  at  the  race  on  Saturday.  This  old  shriveled-up 
individual  is  bowing  politely  and  saying:  "  Yes,  Mon- 
sieur; I  had  the  honor  of  fighting  under  General  Jack- 
son." 

4 'Well,  you  look  old  enough  to  have  fought  under 
General  Washington,"  returns  the  young  blood,  easily, 
then  queries:  "How  did  you  come  out  on  the  horse- 
race ?  " 

"Ah,  Monsieur,  I  am  forever  obliged.  The  race-week, 
which  would  have  been  a  despair  to  me — under  your  ad- 
vice— became  a  delight. ' ' 

"Always  back  old  Kentuck  ! "  cries  Bob  heart- 
ily; then  adds:  "Perhaps  you  can  tell  me  where  my 
grandfather  fought.  First  Sergeant,  Third  Company, 
First  Regiment,  Kentucky  Militia." 

"  Certainement !  "replies  the  guide.  "We  fought  next 
to  him.  Here  is  the  cotton  battery,  with  the  heavy 
guns,  where  I  stood,  together  with  Dominique  You  and 
the  sea-dog  Bluche.  There  are  the  three  trees  down 
the  river,  half  a  mile,  where  Pakenham's  headquarters 
were.  Here  General  Jackson  stood,"  and  he  goes  into 
an  elaborate  description  of  the  battle. 

To  this  Covington  listens  unheedingly.  He  is 
looking  at  the  beautiful  young  lady  by  his  side.  Prob- 
ably Miss  Louise  pays  little  attention  also,  as  she  sud- 
denly says:  "  I  wonder  whether  blue  gauze  or  white 
tulle  and  pink  flowers  will  become  me  most.  What  are 
your  favorite  colors,  Cousin  Bob?" 

"Wood-violet  eyes  and  dark  brown  hair,"  murmurs 
the  gentleman,  abstractedly. 

At  which  a  sudden  blush  flies  over  the  young  lady's 
face.  She  cries:  "Don't  be  foolish!"  then  laughs  a 
little  embarrassed  laugh  and  wanders  away,  but  does 
not  get  very  far,  as  somehow  Mr.  Bob  Covington  is 
never  very  far  behind  Miss  Louise  Tournay  during 
this  day. 


56  BOB    COVINGTON 

Mrs.  Joyce  does  not  pay  very  much  attention  to 
this.  She  is  determined  to  get  her  dollar's  worth  of 
information  from  her  salaried  guide,  and  is  now  asking 
more  questions  than  he  seems  to  care  to  answer. 
Finally  she  says:  "You  say  you  fought  with  the  big 
guns  on  this  battery?  " 

1 '  Om\   Madame. 

"Was  not  this  Lafitte's  battery?" 

"Some  called  it  so,"  answers  the  man,  politely, 
though  he  now  edges  away  from  Pamela  and  breaks  in 
upon  the  happy  tete-a-tete  of  the  Kentuckian  and  Miss 
Louise.  '*  If  Monsieur  would  tell  me  a  little  about  the 
chances  of  Lexington  for  the  next  race,"  murmurs 
the  guide,  bowing.  "  The  track  will  probably  be  dusty. " 

"  It  will  be  dusty  for  both  nags!  "  returns  Coving- 
ton, savagely. 

"  Ah,  yes !  But  in  the  absence  of  mud  ? If  Mon- 
sieur should  hear  of  anything,  would  he  kindly  give  me 
the  benefit  of  his  advice  ?  Here  is  my  address."  And 
the  Creole  produces  from  a  greasy,  worn,  and  dilapi- 
dated pocketbook  a  more  greasy,  worn,  and  dilapidated 
card. 

This  he  hands  to  the  Kentuckian,  who  shoves  it  into 
his  pocket,  saying:  "All  right!  If  I  get  anything 
definite  I'll  let  you  know,"  then  turns  away,  anxious 
to  resume  his  tete-a-tete. 

A  moment  after,  the  party  go  to  their  equipage,  for 
they  have  now  to  drive  to  Spanish  Fort  in  time  for 
dinner.  So,  calling  to  Martineau,  who  has  wandered 
off  by  himself,  apparently  in  a  brown  study,  Coving- 
ton puts  the  ladies  into  the  carriage  again  and  they 
get  under  way  once  more. 

Two  hours  later  they  are  on  the  borders  of  Lake 
Pontchartrain,  upon  whose  banks  in  the  distance  the 
green  of  the  cypress  and  the  oak  can  be  seen,  meeting 
the  soft  waters.  In  one  or  two  places  there  are  traces 
of  beach,  in  another  a  white  light-house,  and  in  the 
distance  a  long  pier.  They  drive  beside  its  limpid 
waters,  and  very  shortly  find  themselves  at  those  old 
moss-grown  fortifications  called  Spanish  Fort,  whose 
guns  even  now  are  rusty  and  dismounted,  and  beside 
whose  crumbling  earthworks,  grown  up  with  flowering 


BOB    COVINGTON  57 

thickets  of  peach,  flows  the  Bayou  St.  John,  upon 
whose  sluggish  waters  float  a  few  schooners  and  sail- 
ing boats. 

Here,  in  addition  to  a  long  wharf,  are  some  rose 
gardens,  a  shooting  alley  or  two,  and  various  other 
places  of  entertainment,  among  them  the  celebrated 
restaurant  at  which  they  are  going  to  eat  one  of  its 
famous  fish  dinners. 

The  place  is  crowded  by  a  merry  throng  of  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  it  being  quite  the  thing  to  dine  by  the 
lake  side.  The  breeze  from  the  water  has  given  the 
party  an  appetite,  and  they  seat  themselves  at  one  of 
the  tables  in  a  hungry  expectation  that  is  not  disap- 
pointed. They  all  would  enjoy  the  meal  very  greatly, 
did  not  with  their  coffee  come  to  them  an  episode  that 
puts  Miss  Louise  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  delight,  but 
seems  in  some  way  to  bring  consternation  to  the 
French  avocat. 

Among  the  gay  crowd  at  the  restaurant — for  the  buzz 
is  kept  up  very  merrily,  the  laughter  of  fair  women 
and  gallant  gentlemen  is  in  the  air,  and  the  popping  of 
champagne  corks  punctuates  the  buzz — Louise's  bright 
eyes  catch  the  graceful  form  of  Miss  Sally  Johnson. 
This  young  lady,  with  some  Western  gentlemen,  two  or 
three  St.  Louis  girls,  and  a  dashing  widow  for  chaper- 
one,  is  at  one  of  the  neighboring  tables,  the  ladies  of 
the  party  making  a  great  show  of  beauty. 

This  Louisville  belle  has  been  pointed  out  to  her  on 
the  drive  by  Monsieur  Martineau,  and  remembering 
Mr.  Covington's  engagement  with  this  young  lady  the 
evening  before,  Miss  Louise  looks  at  Miss  Sally  with 
an  interest  that  at  the  moment  she  does  not  under- 
stand, but  which  produces  some  later  effects. 

Conspicuous  also  is  Henri  La  Farge,  the  aristo- 
cratic Creole  and  probably  the  greatest  beau 
in  New  Orleans.  This  gentleman  and  Covington 
are  quite  well  known  to  each  other,  having  met  the 
year  before  in  New  York,  and  at  Saratoga,  where  they 
drank  the  Congress-waters  and  ran  -through  the  usual 
round  of  watering-place  gayety.  Though  they  have 
never  been  intimates,  they  have  always  been  very 
good  friends. 


58  BOB    COVINGTON 

The  Creole  is  now  seated  at  a  near-by  table.  Catch- 
ing view  of  him,  Bob  hastily  whispers.  "If  you'll 
excuse  me  for  a  moment,  I'll  speak,  to  La  Farge. " 

On  his  journey,  chancing  to  pass  quite  near  Miss 
Sally  Johnson,  Miss  Louise  thinks — for  her  bright  eyes 
are  on  him — he  whispers  into  the  pretty  ear  of  the 
Louisville  beauty.  Then  some  new  passion  the  girl 
has  never  felt  before,  comes  into  her  to  make  her  eyes 
sparkle  and  her  delicate  foot  tap  the  sanded  floor  petu- 
lantly, angrily. 

'She  dislikes  Miss  Sally,  though  she  has  no  reason 
to,  for  the  pretty  Kentuckian  is  simply  saying  : 
"Mr.  Covington,  who  is  that  beautiful  creature? — A 
cousin?  Ah!  you  were  always  lucky! — But  I  see  you're 
anxious  to  speak  to  your  friend,  Monsieur  La  Farge." 

A  moment  later  he  is  very  kindly  greeted  by  the 
young  Creole  exquisite;  then  after  a  few  minutes'  con- 
versation, both  gentlemen  stroll  over  to  Covington's 
table. 

"  Permit  me  to  introduce  Monsieur  Henri  La  Farge," 
remarks  Bob,  presenting  his  friend  to  the  two  ladies. 
"Monsieur  Martineau  and  you  are  acquaintances, 
I  believe." 

"  Old  ones!  "  returns  the  Creole,  greeting  the  avocat 
very  cordially,  but  keeping  his  eyes  upon  Miss  Louise. 

To  her  he  says:  "  I  am  delighted  to  welcome  Made- 
moiselle Tournay  to  New  Orleans.  Your  family  have 
been  away  from  the  city  too  long.  The  Crescent  City 
without  a  Tournay,  twenty  years  ago,  would  have  been 
considered  not  quite  New  Orleans.  But  I  am  happy  to 
learn  that  you  have  concluded  to  put  aside  mourning 
and  enter  society,"  and  manifests  a  desire  to  sit  by  the 
side  of  the  young  lady,  whose  beautiful  eyes  and  piquant 
expression  seem  very  attractive  to  him;  but  Martineau 
uneasily  rises  from  his  chair. 

"  I  see  your  party  are  preparing  for  the  drive  back," 
continues  the  Creole  exquisite.  "Mademoiselle,  may  I 
hope  for  the  pleasure  of  a  dance  next  Thursday  even- 
ing? " 

"  Certainly,"  answers  Miss  Louise,  with  more  than 
debutante's  naiveti.  "I  only  know  two  young  gentle- 
men in  the  town,  you  and  Cousin  Bob." 


BOB    COVINGTON  59 


tt 


Then  Mr.  Covington  and  I  are  both  very  fortun- 
ate," murmurs  the  gallant.  And  he  moves  away,  to 
be  almost  immediately  petitioned  with  much  anxiety 
and  eagerness  by  Miss  Johnson  and  her  party  for  just 
another  invitation  for  the  approaching  ball  for  Miss 
Carondelet  of  St.  Louis;  these  Pelican  fetes  being  the 
most  gorgeous  and  select  in  all  the  West,  and  entree  to 
their  portals  being  as  difficult  to  obtain,  and  as  much 
longed  for  by  the  fair  sex  as  the  opening  of  the  gates 
of  Paradise  to  outside  Peris. 

A  moment  after,  Louise,  whose  eyes  have  become 
very  bright  at  the  thought  of  social  success  and  social 
gayety,  passes  out  of  the  restaurant,,  leaning  upon 
Covington's  arm  and  murmuring:  "  Am  I  not  a  for- 
tunate girl  ?  Monsieur  La  Farge  is  one  of  the  Pelican 
Invitation  Committee,  is  he  not  ?  You  are  making 
this  a  new  world  for  me,  Cousin  Bob." 

Among  the  crowd  lounging  outside  and  looking  at 
the  equipages  driving  up  and  the  ladies  and  gentlemen 
taking  departure  is  Mr.  Kitson  Jarvis.  This  worthy's 
face  brightens  and  his  eyes  become  very  keen  as  they 
catch  sight  of  the.  beautiful  girl  the  Kentuckian  is 
placing  in  his  carriage.  His  ferret  glance  rests  on  the 
graceful  outlines  of  Miss  Louise,  from  dainty  head  to 
exquisite  foot  and  ankle,  and,  noting  the  gallant  bear- 
ing and  ardent  eyes  of  her  escort,  Kit  rubs  his  hands 
together  and  mutters:  "  Gee-whiz!  Perhaps  next 
week  I'll  have  something  to  tell  you,  my  gorgeous 
buck,  that'll  make  you  look  two  ways  for  Sunday,  you 
lucky  dog!  " 

But  Miss  Tournay  and  Mr.  Covington  are  becoming 
so  engrossed  with  one  another  that  they  are  oblivious 
of  outside  comment  or  remark. 

So  the  party  drive  in,  as  the  evening  is  descending, 
along  the  shell-road  that  borders  the  banks  of  the 
canal,  which  lies  on  one  side  of  them  and  is  made 
bright  by  pleasure  boats,  a  few  schooners  that  are 
making  their  way  to  the  city  in  spite  of  Sunday,  and 
some  little  steamboats  that  ply  up  and  down  its  waters. 
On  their  other  hand  is  a  sea  of  green,  live  oaks, 
swamp-cypress,  and  palmettos  mixed.  The  road  is 
full  of  laughing  parties  in  dashing  equipages,  mingled 


60  BOB    COVTNGTOtf 

with  vehicles  of  all  kinds,  from  the  hired  cabriolet  to 
the  fast  American  trotting  buggy.  As  they  near  town, 
pickaninny  boys  and  pickaninny  girls  offer  them  bou- 
quets from  the  roadside,  and  the  guffaws  of  many 
darkies  come  from  little  cabins,  some  of  them  bowered 
in  shrubs  and  palms.  Every  one,  black  and  white,  is 
enjoying  himself  this  soft,  spring  night. 

So,  coming  into  the  city,  they  leave  the  more  modern 
houses  and  passing  Canal  Street,  the  great  thorough- 
fare, which,  with  its  banquettes  even  now  crowded  with 
gayly  dressed  ladies,  is  the  dividing  line  between  the 
American  and  Creole  quarters,  drive  up  Dauphine 
Street.  At  the  Tournay  residence,  the  gentlemen 
would  take  their  leave,  did  not  Miss  Louise  remark: 
"It  is  very  early.  Send  your  carriage  away!  Come 
in — I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"  About  what?  "  asks  Covington,  eagerly  accepting 
the  invitation,  and  followed,  almost  perforce,  by 
Martineau. 

"About  my  dresses  for  the  ball,  of  course!"  And  the 
girl  goes  into  an  excited  dissertation  upon  the  various 
styles,  modes,  and  fashions  of  that  epoch,  winding 
up  her  remarks  by  crying:  "Monsieur  Martineau,  you 
must  open  your  strong  box  and  let  me  have  the  Tournay 
diamonds!  " 

To  this  her  trustee  makes  no  immediate  reply;  but, 
apparently  wishing  to  throw  the  subject  off  his  mind, 
enters  into  conversation  with  Mrs.  Joyce,  leaving  the 
young  lady  and  gentleman  to  their  discussion  of  the 
frivolities  of  this  world,  and  so  brings  upon  himself 
another  spasm  of  dismay.  Mrs.  Joyce,  in  that  pursuit 
of  information  peculiar  to  schoolmistresses,  must  now 
know  everything  about  the  battle  of  New  Orleans, 
dates,  figures,  and  the  losses  of  both  sides,  and  goes 
to  questioning  the  avocat  eagerly. 

Finally,  Pamela  asks  one  or  two  questions  about 
Lafitte  and  his  men,  and  what  position  that  buccaneer 
took  in  the  battle,  and  who  fought  under  him, 
and  getting  answer  to  them,  she  electrifies  the 
party  by  a  series  of  faint  screams,  and,  faltering, 
gasps:  "My!  That  wretch  is  a  pirate!  Oh,  mercy! 
Oh,  my!" 


BOB    COVINGTON  6 1 

"  What  wretch  ?"  cries  Covington,  disturbed  in  con- 
versation with  Mademoiselle  Louise. 

"  Oh,  that  creature  who  guided  us  over  the  battle- 
field! Oh,  heavens!  that  I  should  have  spoken  to  a 
real  pirate !  " 

"  What  makes  you  think  that  ?  "  queries  Martineau, 
struggling  with  a  laugh. 

"  Why,  you  just  said  all  who  fought  in  that  battery 
of  heavy  artillery  were  Lafitte's  men,  and  that  awful 
old  man  told  me,  though  with  reluctance,  that  he  com- 
manded one  of  the  guns." 

"Well,"  laughs  the  Kentuckian,  "he  didn't  make 
you  walk  the  plank,  anyway;"  then  adds  jocularly: 
"Would  you  like  the  address  of  your  buccaneer  ?" 
Fishing  in  his  pocket,  he  produces  the  card  given  him 
by  the  Creole  guide,  and  gazing  at  it  bursts  into  a 
guffaw;  for  this  is  what  he  beholds: 


M.   FAVAL  BIGORE  POUSSIN. 

NOTAIRE  FRANCAISE, 

17  Fulton  Street. 
N.   B.    Reliable  information  and  valuable 
tips  given  on  horse-races,  and  tickets  supplied 
for  Vasquez'  cock-fights,  Monday  and  Thurs- 
day evenings. 


Then  he  passes  this  to  Miss  Louise,  who  laughs  till 
the  tears  are  in  her  eyes.  Finally  it  is  given  to  Mrs. 
Joyce,  who  cannot  help  smiling,  and  by  her  it  is  handed 
to  Arvid  Martineau,  who  gazes  at  it  through  his  eye- 
glasses with  quivering  lips  and  paling  face. 

But  the  rest  of  the  party  do  not  notice  this,  for  Miss 
Louise  is  crying:  "It's  the  notary — the  old  notary  at 
Guidrys!  I  thought  I  had  seen  those  cat-eyes  before! 
Monsieur  Martineau,  it's  the  man  who  was  a  traitor  to 
General  Jackson!     You  remember?  " 


6  2  BOB    COVINGTON 

"Ah,  yes,  yes!  The  infernal  scoundrel!"  mutters 
the  Creole  attorney,  trying  to  hide  concern  by  simu- 
lating contempt. 

"  The  miserable  tout  wants  my  information  to  sell 
tips  on.  But  Monsieur  Poussin  won't  speculate  on  my 
knowledge,"  exclaims  the  Kentuckian,  and  jeeringly 
tosses  the  card  out  of  one  of  the  open  windows,  where 
it  floats  into  the  darkness  of  the  courtyard. 

A  moment  after,  the  avocat,  rising,  remarks  brokenly: 
"I — I  must  take  my  leave.  I  must  bid  you  good 
evening." 

"  Going — so  soon  ?  "  murmurs  the  young  lady;  then 
suddenly  ejaculates:  "You  are  not  well!"  for  the 
attorney's  face  is  drawn,  his  eyes  contracted,  his  lips 
pale. 

"Yes;  I — I  am  not  accustomed  to  such  prolonged 
exertions  in  the  heat  of  the  day — our  long  drive. 
The  fresh  air  outside  will  do  me  good,"  falters  the  old 
gentleman,  and  takes  his  leave,  declining  assistance, 
though  Covington  offers  to  walk  home  with  him. 

But,  getting  down  the  stairs  into  the  courtyard,  the 
old  avocat  suddenly  goes  to  searching  vigorously  but 
quietly  in  the  darkness  among  the  flower-beds  just  out- 
side the  open  window  of  the  parlor,  and  finally  dis- 
covers the  dirty  card  Bob  had  carelessly  thrown 
away. 

This  he  carefully  puts  in  his  pocketbook,  and  sud- 
denly shudders  ;  for  through  the  open  window  comes 
the  hum  of  happy  voices,  and  Covington  is  saying: 
"I  arranged  that  Pelican  affair  with  LaFarge;  your 
invitation  will  be  sent  to-morrow." 

Then  he  hears  Louise's  voice,  in  innocent  joy,  ex- 
claim: "Thank  you,  dear  Cousin  Bob!  You  are 
making  my  life  very  happy!  " 

From  this  scene  the  old  French  avocat  flies.  But, 
getting  to  his  own  home,  Arvid  Martineau  strides 
about,  wringing  his  hands  and  sighing  these  astounding 
words:  "  She  is  bringing  it  on  herself — bringing  it  on 
herself!  Oh,  why  did  I  not  get  her  away  in  time — in 
time — in  time?  But  the  ball ! — that  must  be  stopped ! 
Nom  de  Dieu,  what  shall  I  do  ? — what  shall  I  do  ?  " 
and  tears  trickle  down  his  kindly  face. 


BOB    COVINGTON  63 

But,  forcing  himself  to  deliberation,  the  attorney 
goes  to  thinking  calmly,  and  finally  makes  up  his  mind 
upon  a  course  of  procedure  which  brings  about  some 
curious  occurrences  during  the  following  week. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

I    DO    THE    ROMEO    ACT ! 


The  party  at  the  Tournay  house  apparently  have 
no  fears  of  the  future. 

The  young  lady  and  gentleman  are  seated  in  the  little 
salon.  Pamela,  still  playing  Creole  propriety,  is  reading 
her  Bible  in  the  adjoining  parlor,  hoping  to  make  up 
for  the  various  sins  of  omission  and  commission  of 
which  she  has  been  guilty  this  Sabbath  day. 

Miss  Louise,  however,  upon  whose  conscience  the 
Sunday's  jaunt  does  not  seem  to  rest  very  heavily,  sits 
in  an  easy  chair,  her  white  hand  playing  with  one  of 
the  tassels  that  hang  down  from  its  upholstery,  and 
her  blue  eyes,  which  have  grown  dark  with  some  latent 
emotion,  gazing  dreamily  at  the  handsome  cavalier, 
who  is  now  laying  out  a  programme  of  gayety  for  the 
coming  week. 

"To-morrow  evening, "  suggests  Covington,  "sup- 
posing you  and  Mrs.  Joyce  go  with  me  to  Monsieur 
Placide's  Varieties.  We  will  see  him  in  his  great  role 
of  '  Corporal  Cartouche. '  What  do  you  say  to  that, 
Cousin  Lou  ?  " 

"  Delightful!  "  assents  the  girl,  to  whom  everything 
this  gentleman  now  proposes  seems  agreeable. 

"Then  on  Tuesday  evening  the  French  theatre. 
How  does  that  strike  you  ? " 

"I'm  afraid  you  and  Pamela  won't  enjoy  that 
very  much,"  laughs  Louise.  "  Neither  of  you  speaks 
French." 

"  I  shall  !  I  shall  obtain  the  emotions  of  the  play 
from  your  vivacious  face,"  remarks  the  gentleman  con- 
fidently. 

"  And   look  at  me  all  the  time  to  do  it  ?  "  cries  the 


64  BOB    COVINGTON 

young  lady,  playfully.  "Act  first,  scene  first:  blue 
eyes,  brown  hair!  Act  first,  scene  second:  brown  hair, 
blue  eyes!  Comedy  scene:  blue  eyes,  brown  hair,  white 
teeth  and  snickers!  Tragedy  climax :  blue  eyes,  brown 
hair,  nervous  twitching  of  the  eyelids,  lips  tightly  com- 
pressed, and  rivers  of  tears.  Ciel !  My  countenance 
would  be  very  fatiguing  before  the  curtain  fell." 

"  Not  to  me !  "  whispers  the  Kentuckian,  something 
coming  into  his  face  to  make  the  young  lady  who  has 
been  gazing  vivaciously  at  him,  suddenly  droop  her 
eyes. 

"The  tragedy  climax  would  indeed  be  a  novelty  to 
me,"  adds  Bob,  then  murmurs  sympathetically,  even 
romantically:   "You  know  I  have  never  seen  you  cry." 

"And  you  never  will!"  says  the  girl,  impulsively. 
"Treat  me  as  you  have  done  to-day  and  you  never 
will!" 

But  she  checks  herself  and  suggests:  "If  you  can 
come  to-morrow  about  two,  possibly  I  may  give  you  a 
cup  of  tea." 

"  My  week  is  entirely  at  your  disposal,"  remarks  the 
young  man. 

"Only  this  week?"  murmurs  the  girl,  a  latent 
coquetry  in  her  manner. 

"  Only  the  rest  of  my !  "  whispers  Mr.  Ardent, 

but  pauses  here,  his  Cousin  Louise  having  run 
away  from  him. 

"  Au  revoir"  airily  remarks  the  young  lady  who  has 
found  a  chaperone  convenient,  and  is  standing  by  the 
side  of  Mrs.  Joyce. 

"Till  to-morrow,"  returns  the  gallant,  and  takes 
his  leave,  but  as  he  strides  away  communes  with  him- 
self: "Of  course,  naturally  I  scared  her.  Hold 
your  horses,  Bob;  don't  make  your  running  until 
you're  in  the  homestretch ;  "  then  laughs:  "We  Ken- 
tuckians  are  impulsive  fellows;  we  pay  on  sight,  fight 
on  sight  and  love  on  sight." 

"What  was  Mr.  Covington  saying  to  you?"  asks 
Mrs.  Joyce,  who  has  not  forgotten  her  schoolmistress 
method  of  observing  young  ladies'  faces.  "  You  seem 
agitated." 

"Agitated!     Of  course,  I  am!     Who  wouldn't  be,  at 


BOB    COVINGTON  65 

the  thought  of  a  first  ball  and  a  first  ball-dress? 
We'll  see  Monsieur  Martineau  to-morrow,"  cries  Miss 
Louise,  to  whom  finances  have  never  been  much 
trouble,  perhaps  because  she  has  never  spent  a  great 
deal.  Her  father's  allowance  to  her  had  been  liberal 
for  a  school-girl,  and  at  the  plantation  there  had  been 
no  way  of  dissipating  capital. 

But  in  the  morning,  financial  trouble  comes  upon 
this  young  lady  for  the  first  time. 

Indications  of  this  are  easily  apparent  to  Bob  when 
he  makes  his  afternoon  visit,  at  two  o'clock  the  next 
day. 

He  saunters  in  from  lunch  at  the  Orleans  Club, 
and  finds  himself  received  by  Mrs.  Joyce  and  her 
pretty  charge,  both  the  ladies  being  seated  in  the 
courtyard,  which  as  the  sun  shines  on  it,  seems 
like  a  nook  in  the  tropics.  The  old-fashioned 
house  runs  entirely  around  it,  sweet-smelling  flowers 
are  on  the  verandas  above,  some  plantains,  bana- 
nas, and  palms  give  shade;  blossoming  plants  and 
trailing  vines  destroy  the  formality  of  its  stucco 
walls;  while  the  whole  place  is  made  picturesque  by 
a  little  bubbling  fountain,  which  does  not  throw  its 
water  very  high,  and  an  old-fashioned  but  romantic- 
looking  awning  of  bright-colored  stripes.  This  is  slung 
from  the  rear  wall  and  gives  a  very  pretty  effect,  espe- 
cially as  Miss  Louise,  looking  fresh  and  cool  in  a  white 
muslin  which  is  very  sheer  and  permits  glimpses  of 
white  shoulders  and  white  arms,  is  sitting  beneath  it; 
a  Louise  Quinze  table  bearing  some  light  refreshments 
and  a  smoking  teapot  and  tea  things  in  front  of  her. 

"You  see  I'm  ready  for  you,"  she  remarks,  as  the 
gentleman  is  shown  in  by  her  maid;  then  cries: 
"Lorena!  some  more  hot  water — quick!  Mr.  Coving- 
ton— I  see  by  his  promptness — is  anxious  for  his  tea." 

"Yes,"  suggests  Mrs.  Joyce.  "Mr.  Covington  is 
always  at  your  behest;"  then  adds,  grimly:  "I  wish 
all  other  gentlemen  were." 

"Well,  all  who  know  you  are  yours  to  command 
now,"  replies  the  Kentuckian,  "and  you'll  know  a 
good  many  more  bucks  and  blades,  Miss  Louise,  on 
Thursday  evening.     Here  is  your  invitation  for  the 


66  BOB    COVINGTON 

Pelican — and  yours,    Mrs.    Joyce "  then   pauses, 

astonished. 

For  there  are  tears  in  the  bright  eyes  of  his  cous- 
in, as  she  falters:  "I — I  am  forever  obliged  to  you. 
You  have  been  very  good  to  me,  but — but  I  cannot 
go." 

"Not  go!"  cries  Bob,  aghast.  "Great  Goliah! 
What  will  become  of  me  and  the  rest  of  the  boys  ? " 
then  says,  anxiously:  "What  is  the  reason?  You're 
not  ill  ?     You  haven't  heard  bad  news  ?  " 

"Yes;  but  I  have — very!"  answers  Louise,  whose 
lips  are  trembling. 

To  this  Mrs.  Joyce  adds,  savagely:  "That  skinflint 
Martineau!  "  and  goes  away,  as  if  she  couldn't  bear  to 
discuss  him. 

But  the  young  lady  says:  "  I  don't  know  that  I  can 
blame  him.  He  has  always  looked  out  for  my  inter- 
ests.    He  says,  I — I  can't  afford  it." 

At  this,  even  in  her  misery  the  Kentuckian  makes  the 
girl  happy.  "Always  defending  everybody,  ain't  you?  " 
he  cries — then  says,  rather  commandingly:  "Now  tell 
me  all  about  it." 

"Well,"  replies  the  young  lady,  "this  morning  I 
went  down  to  Madame  Olympe  and  I  picked  out  a — 
Oh  I  can't  describe  the  dress! — the  whole  affair  is  too 
dreadful— I — I  had  it  sent  home  to  me.  Afterwards 
we  selected  one  for  Mrs.  Joyce — a  robe  of  black  velvet 
with  lace, — something  that  would  suit  her.  Then  we 
went  to  Monsieur  Martineau's  office  and  he — he  told 
me  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  pay  for  the  dresses, 
and — and  I'm  going  to  send  them  back !  Oh  the  humilia- 
tion!    I'm — I'm  very  unhappy!  " 

"Well,  you  shan't  be,  long!"  replies  her  cousin,  "I'll 
step  down  and  see  Martineau.  Don't  send  the  dresses 
back!     This  affair  is  in  my  hands  now!  " 

"  Is  it?  "  cries  the  girl,  eagerly.  "Is  it,  Cousin  Bob? 
Then,  if  it  is,  I'm  sure  it'll  be  all  right."  And  she 
gives  him  a  glance  of  trust  and  admiration  that  makes 
him  very  happy  and  his  heart  beat  very  fast. 

So  he  strides  away,  leaving  his  cup  of  tea  untasted, 
in  the  excitement  of  his  cousin's  wrongs,  for  he  is  mut- 
tering as  he  walks  along:      "  I  wonder  if  her  trustee, 


BOB    COVINGTON  6j 

or  guardian,  or  whatever  he  is,  is  a  damned  old  scoun- 
drel. I  must  take  a  look  into  Cousin  Louise's  affairs!  " 
and  makes  his  way  to  the  office  of  the  avocat  which  is 
on  Custom  House  Street. 

On  announcing  his  name,  he  is  very  shortly  shown  in 
to  the  Creole  attorney's  private  office,  to  have  every 
suspicion  of  Arvid  Martineau  swept  away  as  he  gazes 
into  that  gentleman's  precise  yet  noble  face. 

Though  the  lawyer  has  a  certain  nervous  anxiety  in  his 
manner,  Covington  is  very  affably  received.  The  attor- 
ney even  looks  pleased  when  the  young  man  says:  "  I 
have  called  to  see  you  about  some  business  for  my 
Cousin  Louise.  Please  don't  think  that  I  wish  to  in- 
trude either  my  advice  or  direction,  but  what  seems 
to  us  men  of  the  world  a  trifle,  is  a  very  great  affair  to 
a  girl  who  is  going  to  her  first  ball." 

"Going  to  her  first  ball?"  echoes  Martineau.  M  She 
said  that  would  be  impossible  without  a  new  dress." 

"  Yes;  but  we  must  furnish  it  for  her.  You  say,  I 
understand,  that  the  Tournay  estate  cannot  afford  it?" 

"  Not  exactly  that,  "  remarks  the  avocat,"  but " 

He  hesitates  a  little  here,  then  goes  on  rapidly  and  ear- 
nestly, though  Covington  can  see  he  weighs  every  word 
he  utters :  "I  will  take  you  into  my  confidence.  There 
is  a  chance  of  a  certain  claim  being  made  against  the 
Tournay  estate.  In  case  it  is  made,  I  shall  have  to 
meet  it,  and  Mademoiselle  Louise's  income  and  her 
sister's  will "     The  attorney  hesitates  here. 

"Will  be  diminished?"  suggests  Covington. 

"Will  be  nothing/" 

"Great  powers!  You  astound  me!"  Bob's  face  is 
very  serious.  "But  of  course  you  will  oppose  any 
such  claim." 

"Between  ourselves,"  remarks  the  legal  gentleman, 
"  I  do  not  think  any  defense  can  be  made,  if  the  claim 
is  properly  set  forth. " 

"Heavens  and  earth  !  Then  of  course  the  claim  will 
be  presented ! " 

"That  I  do  not  know." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  I  do  not  think  that  the  party  having  the 
legal  right  in  the  matter  is  aware  of  his  position.    That 


68  BOB    COVINGTON 

is  one  reason — perhaps  my  best  one — though  I  hope 
not,"  mutters  the  lawyer,  a  peculiar  questioning  ex- 
pression running  over  his  features  as  he  gazes  at  the 
young  Kentuckian. 

"  Miss  Louise  knows  nothing  about  it  ? " 

"No;  I  have  not  been  able  to  bring  myself  to  tell 
her.  In  case  the  claim  is  not  made,  /  shall  never  tell 
her !  That  is  the  reason  I  have  wished  her  to  take 
her  sister  and  go  to  Paris.  In  case  the  claim  is  made, 
the  young  ladies  being  here,  would  only  bring  trouble 
upon  them,  without  doing  them  any  good  on  earth.  In 
fact,  their  presence  would  only  add  to  my  embarrass- 
ment in  arranging  the  affair." 

"And  the  party  having  this  infernal  hold  upon  the 
Tournay  estate  doesn't  know  it  ?  " 

"  No! — and  from  my  lips,  he  never  shall!  "  says  the 
Creole  lawyer,  determinedly.  "It  is  not  my  duty,  as 
executor  of  this  estate,  or  trustee  for  it,  to  go  about 
finding  claims  against  it  or  claimants  for  it.  Do  you 
think  so,  Mr.  Covington?" 

"No,  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  do!"  says  Bob,  though 
his  face  is  very  solemn.  A  moment  after,  he 
brightens  up  a  little,  and  adds:  "  But,  for  that  reason, 
we  must  not  prevent  the  girl's  having  a  good  time — eh, 
Monsieur  Martineau  ?  " 

"  You  mean  with  regard  to  ball  dresses  ? " 

"Certainly!" 

"Under  the  circumstances,"  remarks  the  Creole 
lawyer,  "I  do  not  feel  authorized  in  providing  any 
more  money  than  will  permit  Miss  Louise  a  comfort- 
able living.  The  estate  must  be  kept  up,  and  I — this 
is  from  a  strict  business  standpoint — must  be  in  posi- 
tion to  make  the  proper  accounting  if  the  claim  is 
made." 

"  This  is  a  very  ex — extraordinary  situation,"  falters 
Covington.  Then  he  suddenly  says:  "As  Louise's 
nearest  relative,  make  me  your  confidant  in  the  matter 
— tell  me  all  about  it.  Let  us  try  to  euchre  any 
scoundrel  who  would  rob  a  girl  who  can't  be  beat — this 
side  of  Jordan." 

This  suggestion  seems  to  have  a  curious  effect  upon 
Martineau.     His  face  changes  color;  he  looks  at  Bob 


BOB    COVINGTON  69 

for  one  moment,  as  if  almost  about  to  speak,  but 
finally  mutters:  "No!  Mon  Dieu  !  I  cannot!  "then 
adds,  apparently,  as  if  wishing  to  close  the  discussion: 
"The  more  who  know  this  secret,  the  greater  danger 
of  its  coming  to  the  person  who  might  use  it.  I  have 
the  greatest  respect  for  you  — the  greatest  admiration 
for  you — Monsieur  Covington ;  but  you  are  young,  you 
have  the  quick  impulse — the  hasty  frankness  of  youth 
—  I  have  the  discretion  of  age.  The  secret  remains 
mine — at  all  events  for  the  present." 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,"  returns  Covington,  who 
has  been  thinking  the  matter  over;  then  he  suddenly 
says:  "But  Louise  must  have  her  ball  dress.  No 
cloud  from  this  iniquitous  claim  must  come  upon  her 
life,  if  I  can  roll  it  away.  As  her  nearest  relative,  it  is 
my  duty — by  Heaven,  sir! — to  stand  up  for  her  rights 
and  her  happiness,  which  have  become— I  am  more  con- 
fiding than  you — very  dear  to  me.  I  have  been  for- 
tunate      He  sits  down  and,  despite  the  protests  of 

the  Creole  attorney,  draws  out  a  pocket  check-book 
and  writes  hurriedly.  "  Here  is  my  check  on  the  Bank 
of  Louisiana  for  five  thousand  dollars.  Now  don't  go 
to  preaching,  my  dear  Martineau!  I'm  flush  now;  La 
Farge  paid  his  bets  to-day.  This  I  authorize  you  to 
expend  for  the  personal  expenses  of  my  cousin,  sir,  and 
— hang  it — under  the  circumstances  you  can't  refuse. 
Though,  not  one  word  to  Miss  Louise  about  it!  You 
come  to  the  Pelican  ball  and  you'll  see  what  a  high 
old  time  we'll  have,  despite  incipient  claims  and  un- 
known dangers.  Pay  Madame  Olympe's  bill  when  it 
arrives,  and,  by  Heaven!  if  you  want  more,  call 
upon  Bob  Covington,  of  Lexington,  who  knows  what  it 
is  to  have  the  prettiest  girl  in  Louisiana  for  a  cousin!  " 

So  the  young  buck  goes  away,  leaving  Martineau 
looking  at  him,  admiration  mingled  with  astonishment 
in  his  eyes. 

But  a  moment  after,  the  attorney  almost  wails :  '  *  My 
Heaven!  His  generosity  will  compel  me  to  tell.  They 
— they  must  not  go  to  the  ball !  After  the  questions 
that  sneaking  police  lawyer  asked  me  to-day — 
that  must  be  prevented  !  At  the  last  I  must  speak!  " 
next  mutters,  as  if   frightened:     "No — no — not  yet! 


70  BOB    COVINGTON 

there  must  be  some  way  to  arrange  this!  TJiink, 
Martineau,  think!"  then  jeers  himself:  "Is  your 
brain  paralyzed  over  the  invitation  of  a  young  lady  to 
a  ball  ?  Old  man,  you  are  becoming  a  dotard! — be- 
cause this  matter  is — is — breaking  your  heart!" 

And  he  sinks  down  and  drops  his  head  upon  his  desk, 
this  man  who  is  considered  as  hardheaded  and  sub- 
tle-minded a  legal  formalist  as  any  of  the  Louisiana  bar. 

A  few  minutes  of  intense  emotion,  and  the  lawyer  is 
a  man* of  action  once  more.  He  rings  his  bell;  one  of 
his  clerks  comes  in  and  gives  him  a  report.  Looking 
this  over,  after  his  assistant  has  departed,  Martineau's 
eyes  beam.  He  cries :  "  That  was  a  very  pretty  ruse ! 
That  heads  off  for  the  present  Mr.  Kitson  Jarvis. 
Now,  while  I  have  time,  in  a  few  days  I  must  get  those 
girls  to  Europe!  "  then  thinks  the  matter  over  deeply, 
and  gives  vent  to  this  extraordinary  sentiment:  "As 
God  is  my  judge,  i  do  not  think  he  will  deem  it 
a  robbery! " 

But  this  interview  brings  with  it  a  curious  decision 
to  Mr.  Covington.  This  young  man's  steps  are  by  no 
means  as  rapid  as  those  that  led  him  to  the  attor- 
ney's office.  He  had  come  to  discuss  a  bill  for  ball 
dresses;  he  has  discovered  beneath  the  small  annoy- 
ance a  very  great  calamity. 

"Threatened  with  the  loss  of  her  fortune?"  he 
thinks.  "  That  makes  no  difference !  Thank  Heaven, 
that  makes  no  difference!  I've  enough!  God  has 
been  good  to  me.     We'll  have  a  high  old  time,  any  way, 

and  if  she "     His  heart  beats,  so  he  does  not  finish 

the  sentence,  but  murmurs:  "I'll  speak  before  she 
knows!  Louise  shall  not  think  that  pity  has  given  her 
a  lover!  not  by  the  soul  of  Daniel  Boone!  " 

A  resolution  that  brings  about  in  the  course  of 
the  next  two  or  three  days  another  and  more  fearful 
embarrassment  to  the  Creole  attorney. 

Mr.  Covington,  in  the  course  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
is  back  at  the  Tournay  home  on  Dauphine  Street. 
Louise  rises  eagerly  as  he  enters  the  courtyard,  for  the 
sun  is  still  warm  and  she  is  still  making  a  pretty  pic- 
ture under  the  old  awning.  Looking  into  his  face, 
she  falters:     "I    can    see!     Monsieur   Martineau   re- 


BOB    COVINGTON  7 1 

fused!  "  for,  despite  his  resolve  of  a  "  high  old  time," 
Mr.  Bob  has  a  very  moody  manner. 

''No!  Those  ball-dresses  are  all  right!  Martineau 
is  no  longer  a  skinflint;  he'll  pay  your  bills.  Only  re- 
member, you  can't  buy  all  of  Olympe  and  Sophie's 
goods  at  once,  my  little  lady,"  answers  the  gentleman, 
affecting  a  lightness  he  scarcely  feels. 

If  Bob  has  ever  had  a  regret  for  his  five-thousand- 
dollar  check,  he  thinks  the  money  well  lost  as  he  gazes 
at  the  delight  in  the  girl's  face.  She  cries:  "Of 
course!  How  foolish  I  was!  I  knew  you  could  do 
anything!  "  then  goes  on  in  almost  ecstatic  happiness: 
"Cousin  Bob,  you  must  see  it!  Come  up  in  the  par- 
lor and  look  at  it— my  first  dress,  for  my  first  ball!" 

There  is  a  flutter  of  light  skirts  and  flitting  of  pretty 
feet  as  she  runs  ahead  of  him  up  the  stairs,  clapping 
her  hands,  the  joy  of  youth  in  her  eyes — that  joy 
which  makes  the  little  things  of  this  world  into  mighty 
pleasures — that  joy  which  comes  to  us  but  once,  and 
for  a  brief  season,  in  a  lifetime. 

But,  arrived  in  the  salon,  this  young  lady,  with 
feminine  fickleness  of  purpose,  changes  her  mind,  and 
suddenly  says:  "No.  On  second  thoughts,  you  shan't 
see  Olympe's  creation— -just  yet !  Wednesday  is  my 
evening  for  entertaining  you — a  little  surprise  for  my 
Cousin  Bob,"  a  new  and,  she  thinks,  enchanting  idea 
having  flown  into  her.  vivacious  brain. 

So,  he  going  away,  Louise  tells  the  good  news  to 
Mrs.  Joyce,  remarking:  "Haven't  I  a  wonder  for  a 
cousin  ?  He  twists  the  stern  Martineau  about  his  fingers 
as  if  he  were  a  ribbon !  We  must  look  out  for  ourselves, 
Pamela!  This  mighty  man  will  soon-  be  dictator  of 
our  household ! — a  merciful  tyrant,  I  hope, "  and  a  little 
embarrassed  blush  flies  over  her  charming  counte- 
nance, though  she  doesn't  know  what  a  curious 
prophecy  she  is  making. 

And  Mrs.  Joyce,  hearing  the  good  tidings,  rejoices 
also,  for  the  loss  of  the  black  velvet  and  point  lace 
robe  had  been  a  cruel  disappointment,  even  to  her; 
ex-schoolmistresses  rejoicing  in  toilettes  as  well  as 
those  of  less  drastic  mold. 

In  the  evening,  however,  after  an  elaborate  make- 


72  BOB    COVINGTON 

up  under  the  hands  of  Mr.  Caesar,  our  young  gen- 
tleman escorts  Mrs.  Joyce  and  Miss  Tournay  to  the 
theatre,  where  they  all  enjoy  Placide's  performance 
very  much,  the  Kentuckian  being  astonished  at  the 
intense  amount  of  enthusiasm  the  young  lady  displays. 
From  this  they  walk  home,  the  night  being  very  pleas- 
ant, and  the  distance  not  very  great,  and  Miss  Louise 
tells  him  that  it  is  the  fourth  time  in  all  her  life  she 
has  been  in  a  playhouse:  three  times  from  Miss  Mar- 
tin's establishment  in  New  York,  on  certain^gala  occa- 
sions, and  this  evening;  which  has  been  much  the  most 
pleasant  of  them  all. 

"Yes;  there  were  no  young  gentlemen  on  Miss 
Martin's  occasions,"  remarks  Pamela,  with  a  grim  laugh. 

Though  Mrs.  Joyce  is  by  their  side,  the  two  contrive 
to  enjoy  themselves  very  well,  but  after  arrival  at  the 
Tournay  mansion,  Mr.  Covington  makes  what,  as  he 
expresses  it  to  himself  afterward — is  "a  very  bad 
break." 

The  chaperone  is  standing  at  the  head  of  the  stairs 
in  the  little  courtyard,  waiting  for  Louise.  That  young 
lady  at  the  bottom,  is  murmuring:  "Good  night, 
Cousin  Bob,"  and  extending  patrician  fingers. 

As  he  takes  the  delicate  hand  in  his,  something 
flies  into  the  Kentuckian's  eyes.  He  mutters:  "Why 
do  you  always  call  me  cousin  ?  " 

"Because  you  are  one!  "  replies  the  young  lady  sud- 
denly;  then  continues,  a  wounded  tone  in  her  voice: 
"  Do  you  suppose  I  would  permit  so  many  privileges  of 
tcte-a-tete  to  a  gentleman  who  was  not  /"  next  says, 
haughtily:    "What  do  you  mean,  any  way?" 

"I  mean,"  replies  Mr.  Rapid,  who  now  loses  his 
head,  "  just  forget  I  am  your  cousin.  Think  of  me  as 
Bob  Covington,  just  like  any  other  young  fellow." 

"  You  were  very  anxious  to  assume  the  relationship, 
not  much  over  two  days  ago,"  answers  the  girl,  blush- 
ing hotly,  then  continues.  "  Your  request  is  granted, 
Monsieur  Covington,"  dropping  a  demure  courtesy. 
To  this  she  adds:  "  You  are  talking  to  me  alone — my 
chaperone  not  in  ear-shot.  Permit  me  to  suggest 
that  Creole  etiquette  decrees  this  is  not  proper  between 
gentlemen  and  young  ladies  who  are  not  relatives" 


BOB    COVINGTON  73 

"Well,  under  those  circumstances,"  answers  Bob, 
biting  his  lips,  '•  supposing  we  become  cousins  again." 

"  No!  "  cries  the  young  lady,  suddenly.  Then  she 
turns  her  blazing  eyes  on  his  and  mutters:  "  We  can 
never  be  cousins  again !  Good  evening.  Take  your 
hand  from  my  wrist!  You  know  you  have  no  right  to 
such  a  familiarity  to,  one  who  is  not  your  relative, 
Cousin  Bob.  No,  I  don't  mean  that.  Good  night — 
good-bye.  Forgive  me.  Don't  be  angry  with  me — 
Au  revoir  !  " 

And  so  she  runs  away,  a  mixture  of  blushes,  embar- 
rassment and  charming  graces,  to  the  protection  of  her 
chaperone,  who  is  grimly  awaiting  her  at  the  head  of 
the  stairs. 

But  Miss  Louise  has  not  yet  escaped  the  embar- 
rassments of  the  evening.  Mrs.  Joyce  turns  inquir- 
ing eyes  upon  her,  after  they  are  in  the  parlor,  and 
remarks :  ' '  Why  did  you  linger  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
Louise?     It  is  hardly  the  proper  thing  to  do." 

"What!    With  my  cousin V  says  the  girl,  airily. 

"Pooh!  A  fig  for  such  cousinship!  "  cries  Pamela. 
Then  she  utters  these  awful  words:  "Can't  you  see 
that  young  fellow  is  treating  you  like  a  girl  he  wants 
to  marry?  " 

"Marry?"  gasps  Louise,  her  face  growing  very  red 
and  her  eyes  very  bright;  then  she  falters  out  this  in- 
genuous idea:  "How  should  I  know?  I — I  have 
never  been  courted  before"  but  flies  from  Pamela's 
comments  to  the  solitude  of  her  chamber,  where  she 
says:  "The  bold  fellow!  The  idea! — and  only  two 
days!"  next  contradicts  herself  with:  "  I  love  a  brave 
man!  " 

As  for  the  "brave  man,"  after  another  hard  night 
at  poker  with  La  Farge  and  confreres,  he  remarks  to 
himself:  "By  Jove!  I  play  a  bad  game  now!  I've 
lost  my  nerve !  Laid  down  three  queens  before  a  bob- 
tail flush;"  then  says,  reflectively,  yet  determinedly: 
"No,  I  have  not  lost  my  nerve!  I've  got  the  grit  of 
wildcats!  By  the  battle  of  Tippecanoe,  within  two 
days  I  do  the  darned  fool  Romeo  act!  " 


BOOK  II. 

A  Very  Unfortunate  Young  Lady, 


chapter  VII. 

KITSON    JARVIS    SHAKES    HANDS    WITH    HIMSELF. 

On  that  same  Monday,  filled  with  hopes,  joys,  and 
fears,  for  there  are  one  or  two  of  the  latter  connected 
with  his  "best  stroke  of  business  in  the  Crescent  City," 
Mr.  Kitson  Jarvis,  full  of  the  remembrance  of  the 
pretty  picture  Miss  Tournay  and  Mr.  Covington  had 
made  the  afternoon  before,  goes  down  to  his  offices  on 
Lafayette  Street,  just  off  Peters,  and  therefore  quite 
convenient,  not  only  to  the  courts,  but  to  seafaring 
and  steamboat  men,  who  are  his  principal  clients. 
These  consist  of  two  rooms,  over  the  doors  of  which 
the  sign  is  conspicuously  displayed: 

KITSON  JARVIS, 

ATTORNEY.  AND    COUNSELOR-AT-LAW, 

Proctor  in  Admiralty  and  Avocat  Fran$ais. 

The  larger  of  these  apartments  is  devoted  to  the 
routine  business  of  the  office,  and  is  adorned  by  vol- 
umes of  "Blackstone,"  "Kent's  Commentaries," 
"  Chitty  on  Pleadings,"  the  "Civil  Code  of  Louis- 
iana of  1853,"  "Code  Napoleon,"  and  various  other 
works  on  French  and  American  law,  all  tending  to  dis- 
play the  legal  acumen  of  the  gentleman  whose  sign  is 
over  the  door. 

This  connects  with  a  smaller  and  inner  chamber 
which  Mr.  Jarvis  uses  as  a  private  office ;  his  particular 
desk  and  safe  containing  his  more  important  and  con- 


BOB    COVINGTON  75 

fidential  papers  being  prominent  in  the  furniture  of 
the  room.  The  appearance  of  the  place  is  brisk  and 
businesslike  in  both  the  main  and  the  private  office,  the 
usual  legal  documents  and  papers  bearing  general  evi- 
dence of  a  bustling  business.  For  Mr.  Jarvis  has  quite 
a  little  practice  up  and  down  the  river  with  smaller 
planters,  and  is  considered  extremely  effective  in  hand- 
ling seamen's  cases,  legally  bulldozing  Jack  Tars  who 
refuse  to  leave  New  Orleans  in  unseaworthy  vessels,  and 
doing  the  general  business  of  an  all-round,  rough-and- 
tumble  sea-captain's  lawyer. 

On  his  entrance  he  is  greeted  by  a  bow  from  a  bright- 
looking  young  Frenchman  of  about  twenty  years  of 
age,  who  is  his  only  clerk,  Monsieur  Alfred  Cotain. 
This  young  gentleman,  who  has  been  industriously 
plying  a  quill  pen,  sticks  it  behind  his  ear  and  answers 
his  employer's  question,  "Any  new  business  this  morn- 
ing? "  with,  a  good  deal  of  Gallic  snap  and  vivacity, 
apparently  being  about  as  brisk  as  his  chief. 

"Yes,"  says  the  young  man,  "Captain  Jenkins  of 
the  bark  Bonny  Bell  wants  you  to  take  proceedings 
against  two  seamen,  Robert  Bonehill  and  Jack  Mur- 
phy, who,  he  says,  have  accepted  his  advance  money, 
and  now  refuse  to  sail,  on  the  ground  that  the  Bonny 
Bell  is  bound  for  the  Gold  Coast,  and  they  are  afraid 
she  intends  to  go  into  running  slaves  to  Cuba — a  voy- 
age they  didn't  sign  for.  Coffee  &  Judkins,  shipping 
agents,  want  them  prosecuted  also. " 

"All  right!  Draw  up  a  summons  and  get  out  an 
application  for  an  order  of  arrest,"  replies  the  attor- 
ney; then  asks,  sharply :   "  Anything  else?  " 

"Yes,  sir.  The  first  mate  of  the  General  Pike  No.  4 
is  up-for  thumping  a  deck-hand  until  he  jumped  over- 
board." 

"  Is  the  deck-hand  drowned?  " 

"No." 

"Then  that  won't  amount  to  much.  Deck-hands 
don't  count." 

"But  the  deck-hand  has  retained  us." 

"Ah!  Yes!  Tell  the  deck-hand  I'll  get  him  heavy 
damages  for  the  infernal  outrage.  Draw  up  a  sum- 
mons and  complaint.     Get  hold  of  that  mate  and  see 


76  BOB    COVINGTON 

how  much  he'll  compromise  for,  down!     What  next?" 

"  Well — Captain  Coulson "    The  clerk  hesitates. 

"  Cuss  it !  speak  quick !  " 

"Well,  sir,  Captain  Coulson  has  come  in  once  more 
to  see  about  that  property  on  Esplanade  Street.  He 
says  you  must  either  pass  or  throw  out  that  title  in 
twenty-four  hours.  His  boat,  the  General  Jones, 
leaves  for  the  Red  River  to-morrow  afternoon,  and  he 
will  have  the  matter  settled.  Besides,  Coulson  says 
the  Societe  Mutuel  are  pressing  him ;  they  only  allowed 
him  four  weeks  for  the  passage  of  title,  and  you  have 
already  taken  six.  He  says  he  wants  an  answer,  '  Yes ' 
or  '  No,'  whether  the  title  is  good." 

"Next  time  Coulson  comes  in  show  him  in  to  me  right 
off,  Alfred,"  remarks  his  employer,  and  goes  into  his 
private  office,  shutting  the  door  with  a  bang,  and  his 
clerk  thinks  he  hears  some  low  and  deep  curses,  and 
wonders  what  the  devil  is  the  matter  about  Coulson 
and  his  property. 

And  there  are  some  exceedingly  deep  curses,  though 
very  low  ones,  coming  from  the  lips  of  Mr.  Kitson 
Jarvis,  who  is  muttering  to  himself:  "  By  the  Eternal! 
will  that  letter  from  California  never  come?  I  wrote  im- 
mediately I  had  grasped  what  that  abstract  might 
mean.  It  should  be  here  even  now,  if  it  comes  by  the 
Nicaragua  line.  I'll  take  a  look  at  the  darned  thing 
again." 

Then  opening  his  safe  he  produces  an  abstract  of 
title  of  property  on  Esplanade  Street,  near  Calvez. 

Running  over  the  original  grants  of  same,  which  had 
been  in  block  from  the  French  crown  to  the  Jesuits  and 
from  the  Jesuits  to  various  settlers  in  the  early  days  of 
Louisiana,  Mr.  Jarvis  comes  down  to  a  transfer  made 
June  23,  1833,  by  one  Francois  Contino  and  wife  to 
Prosper  Delaunay  Tournay,  of  Assumption  Parish,  of 
a  large  frontage  on  this  street  for  the  sum  of  $1,500. 

Next  a  deed,  from  said  Prosper  D.  Tournay  to  Simon 
S.  Jennings  for  one-third  of  same  property,  noted  on  the 
abstract  as  being  passed  as  good,  valid,  unencumbered 
and  complete,  and  carrying  fee  simple  title,  by  Dubois  & 
Merrill,  Avocats;  consideration,  $700.  The  date  of  this 
is  also  the  year   1833,  August  20th,  just  two  months 


BOB    COVINGTON  77 

afterward.  There  is  only  one  more  transfer  of  the  prop- 
erty on  record,  that  of  August  19,  1835,  when  said 
property  had  been  deeded  by  Simon  S.  Jennings  to  the 
Societe  Mutuel  of  New  Orleans,  a  small  investment 
company  of  that  date,  and  passed  also  by  the  same  at- 
torneys, Dubois  &  Merrill;  consideration,  $800. 

The  property  has  apparently  remained  in  the  posses- 
sion of  the  Societe  Mutuel,.  who  are  now  about  to  sell 
the  same  to  Jackson  R.  Coulson,  captain  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi River  steamboat  General  Jones,  for  $2,500; 
Jarvis  being  Coulson's  attorney,  the  abstract  has 
been  placed  in  his  hands  to  pass  upon  the  validity  of 
the  title. 

Looking  at  this  record,  Mr.  Jarvis  remarks :  "It's 
all-fired  curious  how  Dubois  &  Merrill,  who  were  con- 
sidered about  the  best  real  estate  lawyers  of  their  day 
in  New  Orleans,  passed  this  title  without  the  signature 
of  the  wife  of  Prosper  Delaunay  Tournay ! 

"  The  deed  was  made  in  1833,  and  Tournay  was 
married  in  1832  to  Eulalie  Camila  Poussin,  so  far  as  I 
can  discover.  There  is  certainly  no  record  of  renun- 
ciation of  community  of  gains  by  Eulalie  Camila  in 
New  Orleans,  and  no  renunciation  of  common  property 
rights  by  said  Eulalie  Camila  in  Assumption  Parish, 
where  the  marriage  was  reported  to  have  taken  place." 
Here  a  hideous  ukind  of  grin  comes  over  Jarvis's 
face. 

"As  far  as  I  can  find  out,"  cogitates  the  attorney, 
"this  Eulalie  Camila  brought  no  dot  to  her  husband, 
but  as  he  married  her  in  1832,  one  year  before 
he  purchased  this  Esplanade  property,  it  became 
common  property.  And  yet,  with  no  renunciation  of 
partnership  and  community  of  gains  by  this  wife  of 
Prosper  Tournay,  Dubois  &  Merrill  twice  reported 
Tournay's  deed  as  complete  and  unencumbered. 

" I  have  ferreted  out,"  he  thinks,  "as  much  as  I 
dared  without  giving  any  one  a  hint  of  what  I'm 
driving  after,  and  the  thing  would  be  pretty  simple  if 
either  Dubois  or  Merrill  were  get-at-able.  But  Dubois 
is  dead,  and  Merrill  went  to  California,  full  of  the  gold 
fever  of  1849.  He  is  now  an  attorney  in  San  Fran- 
cisco, and — hang  it! — for  his  own  professional  reputa- 
tion he  must  answer  my  letter!  " 


78  BOB    COVINGTON 

Then  he  goes  poring  over  the  records  of  the  Tournay 
family,  obtained  from  Assumption  Parish,  beginning  at 
Prosper  Delaunay  Tournay,  born  1804 — "That's  the 
father!"  mutters  the  lawyer — and  his  sister  Isabel 
Laurey,  born  1806.  Prosper  was  married  1832  to 
Eulalie  Camila  Poussin  and  had  issue  by  her,  Louise 
Camours,  born  1834 — "  That's  the  beauty  of  the  race- 
course,"— Horace  Jackson,  born  1835,  died  1836 — 
"He's  out  of  the  way!" — and  Nita  Hortense,  born 
June  4,  1 841.  Eulalie  Camila  Poussin  Tournay  died 
June  5,  1841. 

"Apparently  the  mother  died  at  the  birth  of  the  last 
child  Nita,  who  is  now  at  Miss  Martin's  boarding-school, 
No.  209  Lafayette  Place,  New  York  City." 

Then  he  goes  on :  "  Isabel  Laurey  Tournay  was  mar- 
ried, 1826,  to  Harrod  Boone  Covington,  of  Kentucky, 
and  had  issue  Robert  Boone  Covington,  1827.  That's 
our  young  buck  of  the  race-course,  the  one  who  is  go- 
ing to  be  so  darned  lucky,  perhaps  !  Oh,  I've  got  the 
Tournay  and  the  Covington  families  down  pretty  fine," 
chuckles  the  attorney. 

This  reverie  is  broken  by  his  clerk,  Alfred,  com- 
ing in  and  saying :   ' '  Captain  Coulson  has  called  again. " 

But  the  river  man  has  already  announced  himself. 
From  the  outer  office  comes  a  stern,  terror-of-deckhands 
voice,  crying  savagely:  "You  tell  your  boss, youngster, 
that,  darn  his  blind-fog  optics,  he  can't  snag  me  in 
that  real  estate  deal,  another  day!  If  Jarvis  doesn't 
open  his  jaws  and  give  me  some  opinion  about  that  title, 
I'll  chuck  him  overboard  and  scoot  the  abstract 
to  Sampson  Ketchum  in  two  minutes!  " 

"Very  well,  Cotain.  Show  the  gentleman  in,"  re- 
turns Mr.  Jarvis,  setting  his  jaws  for  a  diplomatic 
combat;  for  Coulson  is  a  man  who  does  not  take  his 
hat  off,  even  to  pilots,  and  is  considered  more  able  at 
bully-ragging  mates  than  any  other  freight  boat  captain 
on  the  river;  which  is  saying  all  that  can  be  said  for 
any  man.  He  is  a  short,  stocky  individual,  very  broad 
of  shoulder,  with  long  arms  of  apparently  enormous 
strength.  He  has  red  face,  red  hair,  red  eyes,  black 
teeth  and  bull-dog  jaw,  which  he  is  wagging,  grinding 
his  teeth  together,  even  as  he  enters. 


BOB    COVINGTON  79 

"  What  the  devil's  the  matter?  "  he  shouts,  trying  to 
force  himself  to  amiability.  "  Darn  me,  Jarvis,  you're 
the  slowest  craft  on  the  river!  You  must^have  run  up 
a  blind  chute  and  got  caught  by  falling  water  on  this 
real  estate  deal.  Are  you  left  high  and  dry  till  next 
spring?  Don't  you  know  those  Society  Mutual  chaps 
declare  you  could  give  a  '  say  so  v  on  that  title  in  two 
days,  if  you  put  a  nigger's  brains  onto  it?  Bust  my 
boilers,  one  would  think  you'd  been  blown  up  and  be- 
come a  hulk!  The  society  agreed  to  give  four 
weeks  for  you  to  look  into  the  matter,  and  here  it's 
nearly  seven,  and  they'll  be  getting  another  customer. 
By  the  Eternal!  If  you  don't  put  on  steam  I'll  bust 
you  up  in  business!  " 

The  lawyer  deems  it  unwise  to  interrupt  this  effu- 
sion, judging  it  best  to  let  the  riverman  blow  off  super- 
fluous steam.  Then  he  raises  his  hand,  deprecatingly, 
and  says:   "  Captain  Coulson,  will  you  have  a  cigar  ?  " 

"Darn  it!  I  didn't  come  for  a  smoke!  I  came  for 
your  gab  on  that  title!  " 

"Yes,  but  have  a  cigar  while  I  show  you  the  leetle 
difficulty  I  am  in.  It  is  not  a  question  of  title  exactly, 
it  is  a  question  of  whether  the  deed  carries  all  the 
property.  You  have  heard,  I  presume,  of  community 
of  gains  ?  " 

J'  Damn  community  of  gains!  " 

"But  community  of  gains  may  damn  you.  Well, 
perhaps  you  don't  understand  about  transfers  inter  vivos 
and 

"H— m!  " 

"And  you  are  not  entirely  up  in  transfers  by  mortis 
causa  ?  " 

"By  gad,  sir! " 

"Listen  to  me.  Are  you  aware  of  the  difference 
between  a  residuary  legacy  and  a  contingent  remainder  ? 
Can  you  define  the  variance  between  fee  simple  and  a 
life  estate  ?  " 

"By  Jumping  Jonah!  I'm  not  up  for  examination 
for  the  bar!" 

"Certainly  not!  But  I  am  compelled  to  give  you 
your  title  to  the  property,  free  and  clear  of  everything, 
without  any  debts,  rebates,  contingencies,  side-issues, 


80  BOB    COVINGTON 

sub-claims,  liens,  feoffs,  emoluments,  or  peradventures. 
Remember  that!  " 

"  You  don't  say!  "  mutters  the  sea-dog. 

"And  furthermore,  in  addendum  ;s  ab  hoc  et  ab  hcec, 
yet  ad  arbitrium,  and  ad  hue  sub  judiees  lis  est,  Festina 
lente;  Fides  et  justitia  /" 

"Quit  that!     Quit  that  jabbering!  " 

"Jabbering,  my  dear  sir?  I'm  simply  putting  some 
of  the  problems  of  your  case  before  you.  Do  you  ex- 
pect an  answer  on  such  questions  in  a  moment? 
Experentia  docet  stultus.  Vexata  qucestio !  vinculum 
matrimonii  and  status  quo  I  Remember  that !  Qui  tacet 
consentit !  "  During  this  compendium  of  legal  aphorisms 
Mr.  Jarvis  has  become  very  excited  and  vehement,  and 
rattles  off  his  last  sally  in  apparently  savage  fury. 

"  If  you  love  your  life,  quit  cussing  me  in  Latin !  " 

"I  am  not  cursing  you  in  Latin,  sir.  I  am  simply 
giving  you  a  few  of  the  difficulties  of  your  case.  Sup- 
pose I  passed  this  title,  and  there  came  over  to 
you,  by  referee  duly  appointed,  a  commission  to  deter- 
mine how  much  of  this  land  you  hold,  and  they  brought 
you  in  for  heavy  damages,  sir — heavy  damages ! — after 
I  had  told  you  the  title  was  good.  What  would  you 
do  in  such  a  case?" 

"Do/"  cries  the  Captain,  "do!  Why,  darn  my 
eyes,  I'd  lick  the  life  out  of  you  for  having  passed 
it!" 

"  Very  well,  sir.  Under  the  circumstances,  I  request 
a  few  days  more.  When  I  tell  you  the  title  is  right,  it 
will  be,  and  you  can  hold  it  to  the  day  of  judgment." 

"By  the  Texas  eagle,  I  will  hold  it  to  the  day  of 
judgment  if  I  ever  get  onto  that  land!  " 

"Very  well,  sir.  Do  you  expect  me  to  risk  my  per- 
sonal safety  as  well  as  my  professional  reputation  on 
the  drop  of  a  hat?  Remember,  sir,  I  am  working  for  a 
summum  bonum,  multum  in  parvo,  and  a  fee  simple  pro 
bono  publico  that  will  permit  you  and  your  descendants, 
male  and  female,  to  hold  this  property  per  se  in  per- 
petuity by  the  lex  loci,  by  the  lex  non  scripta,  by  the  lex 
scripta,  by  the  lex  terra,  unto  the  end  of  man  !  Re- 
member that! " 

"Well,  that  being  the  state  of  the  case,"  aays  the 


BOB    COVINGTON  8l 

captain,  humbly,  "  I  s'pose  I'll  have  to  give  you  a  leetle 
more  time." 

"  Yes,  sir.  Always  act  slowly  in  real  estate  matters. 
Come  in  and  see  me  about  Friday." 

"  Friday?  How  the  devil  can  I  see  you  then?  I'll 
be  tied  agin'  the  bank,  up  the  Red  River,  Friday!  " 

li  Quite  right !  Come  to  me  when  you  get  back.  Your 
money  is  in  the  Bank  of  Louisiana,  isn't  it?  That's  not 
going  to  burst;  now  you  know  you've  got  something! 
If  you  went  away  and  I  passed  this  title  hurriedly,  you 
might  wake  up  and  find  you  hadn't  anything.  And 
permit  me  to  tell  you  that  a  personal  assault  upon  me 
for  a  bad  passage  of  title  would  bring  upon  you  an 
avalanche  of  civil  and  criminal  litigation  that  would 
make  you  blow  up  your  boat  in  despair.  Remember, 
sir,  the  office  of  a  member  of  the  Louisiana  bar  is  not 
the  hurricane  deck  of  one  of  your  cursed  river  freight 
boats !     Now  let  us  have  a  cigar  and  take  a  snifter. " 

"  Well,  since  you  put  it  that  way,"  remarks  the  can- 
tain,  accepting  the  olive  branch,  "and  your  cigars  be- 
ing very  good Have  you  got  any  corn- juice  in  yer 

private  demijohn?  " 

This  being  produced,  Captain  Jackson  Coulson,  of 
the  steamer  General  Jones,  walks  away,  remarking  to 
himself:  "Hang  me!  I  wonder  if  it  was  a  game  of 
bluff.  Any  way,  I'll  raise  Cain  with  the  deckhands  this 
trip!" 

"I  think  that'll  keep  him  quiet  for  a  day  or  two, 
curse  him !  "  says  the  lawyer.  Then  he  suddenly  cries : 
"  Alfred,  run  down  to  the  postoffice!  See  if  they  can 
tell  you  exactly  when  the  next  California  mail  will 
come  in." 

Word  being  very  shortly  brought  him  by  his  clerk 
that  it  may  not  get  in  until  Wednesday,  Mr.  Kitson 
Jarvis  glumly  thinks  "I  can't  hang  this  thing  up  for- 
ever! "  then  suddenly  mutters:  "  By  Jupiter!  I'll  go 
over  and  see  Martineau!  He  was  Tournay's  lawyer! 
Perhaps  I  can  pump  him  a  little  about  the  matter." 

This  he  does,  producing  somewhat  remarkable  re- 
sults. 

The  office  of  Monsieur  Martineau,  is  upon  Custom 
House  Street,  near  Chartres,  and  bears  the  sign  "JDetaille 


82  BOB    COVINGTON 

et  Martineau,  Avocats. "  Detaille  has  been  dead  a  num- 
ber of  years,  but  the  sign  still  remains,  though  Arvid 
Martineau  follows  his  profession  entirely  upon  his  own 
account. 

As  Kitson  approaches  the  entrance,  he  sees  standing 
in  Custom  House  Street,  in  front  of  the  door,  the  same 
family  carriage  that  had  borne  Miss  Tournay  out  to 
the  race-course  upon  the  preceding  Saturday. 

"Ah!  consulting  with  family  lawyer!  "  thinks  Mr. 
Jarvis.  "There's  no  doubt  Martineau  still  manages 
the  Tournay  estate." 

With  this  he  enters  the  office,  which  consists  of  three 
rooms.  A  large  public  one  in  which  several  clerks  are 
engaged  in  a  quiet,  conservative,  old  style  method  of 
doing  business.  Another,  opening  both  from  the  hall- 
way and  general  office,  is  used  by  Martineau  as 
his  consulting  room.  In  it  he  arranges  the  affairs 
of  a  number  of  the  most  prominent  Creole  families: 
families  with  great  estates;  families  with  hundreds  of 
slaves ;  families  who  raise  thousands  of  bales  of  cotton ; 
families  whose  names  were  prominent  in  the  colony, 
when  it  was  French,  when  it  was  Spanish,  and  afterward 
when  it  was  French  again. 

The  office  immediately  behind  this,  originally  had  be- 
longed to  his  former  partner.  Now  it  is  scarcely  used, 
except  when  some  one  of  Arvid's  lady  clients  wishes  to 
see  the  gentleman  who  manages  her  estates.  Above 
this,  after  the  French  custom,  Martineau  has  his  own 
private  apartments,  and  lives  in  bachelor  content- 
ment, looked  after  by  his  aunt,  a  maiden  lady  of  about 
sixty,  and  two  or  three  devoted  servants 

The  whole  place  appears  to  Kitson  Jarvis,  as  he 
expresses  it,  "infernally  slow. "  "  I'd  rouse  those  lazy 
clerks  up,"  he  thinks,  as  he  enters  the  outer  room. 
"  My  boy  Alfred  could  do  the  business  of  the  kit  of 
them."  But  looking  upon  the  names  on  the  various 
boxes  of  papers  of  the  Martignys,  Soul6s,  Carrolls, 
Polks  and  Maries,  even  Mr.  Jarvis  feels  himself  im- 
pressed, and  mutters  :"A  conservative,but  respectable, 
and — hang  me! — an  infernally  rich  practice." 

The  next  instant  he  is  asking  the  head-clerk, 
Auguste  Pichoir,  if  his  principal  can  be  seen.      "  In  a 


BOB    COVINGTON  83 

few  minutes,  Monsieur,"  answers  the  young  man,  "I 
will  take  your  name  in.  At  present  Monsieur  Martineau 
is  engaged  with  another  client.  Will  you  not  be 
seated? " 

"Of  course,"  replies  Mr.  Jarvis,  and,  knowing  very 
well  who  is  in  consultation  with  the  lawyer,  he  goes  to 
cogitating  over  the  matter  that  is  now  upon  his  mind, 
to  be  roused  from  it  by  the  brush  of  feminine  draperies 
and  the  sunshine  of  beauty,  as  Miss  Louise  sweeps  past 
him  from  the  inner  office,  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Joyce. 
The  interview  has  been  upon  a  no  more  weighty 
subject  than  the  young  lady's  millinery  bills,  but 
as  the  attorney  glances  with  admiring  eyes  over  the 
radiant  loveliness  of  the  girl's  face  and  figure,  he  gives 
a  horrified  start  and  gasps  "By  the  Eternal,  she 
k/iozvs!"  for  the  appearance  of  the  girl  denotes  dis- 
appointment, almost  to  despair. 

Then  Kitson  is  relieved.  Miss  Louise  suddenly 
whispers  to  Mrs.  Joyce :  "He's  simply  awful!  He — 
he — you  do  not  understand,  Pamela — he  absolutely  re- 
fused to  pay  for  my  dress  for  Thursday,  and  Madame 
Olympe  has  sent  it  home.  Oh !  what  shall  I  do?  What 
shall  I  do?  He — "  she  gives  a  savage  yet  pitiful  glance  at 
the  inner  office —  "he  even  commanded  me  not  to  buy 
any  more  costumes!  I  used  to  get  a  great  deal  more 
money  before  papa  died ;  now,  I  have  my  own  income 
and  he  won't  let  me  spend  it!  I — I  can't  take  his  an- 
swer! I'll  go  in  and  see  him  again!  "  adds  the  young 
lady,  stamping  her  little  foot  petulantly. 

She  leaves  Mrs.  Joyce  standing  outside,  makes  a 
tremulous  dive  into  the  private  office  of  Monsieur 
Martineau,  to  emerge  therefrom  half  a  minute  after, 
apparently  defeated.  For  tears  now  veil  Mademoi- 
selle Louise's  exquisite  eyes,  and  she  mutters  to  Mrs. 
Joyce:  "He — he  told  me  he  had  other  people's  in- 
terests to  look  after  as  well  as  mine !  He  absolutely  re- 
fused! I — I  shan't  be  able  to  go  to  the  ball!  You — 
you  don't  seem  to  understand ! — I — /  can't  go  to  the 
ball!" 

And  scarely  heeding  some  half-hearted  attempts  at 
condolence  from  her  companion,  the  young  lady 
goes    out,  the  tears  of  bitter  disappointment  in  her 


84  BOB    COVINGTON 

eyes,  followed  by  her  chaperone,  leaving  Mr.  Jar- 
vis  gazing  after  and  chuckling:  "Great  Taylor!" 
What  a  fright  she  gave  me!  I  was  afraid  the  fat 
was  in  the  fire  and  she  knew — when  it  was  only 
old  Martineau  shutting  down  on  the  funds."  Here 
a  very  cunning  gleam  comes  into  his  eyes,  for 
into  the  attorney's  mind  has  suddenly  flown  this 
proposition:  "The  Tournay  estates  produce  a  very 
good  income.  Why  the  dickens  should  Martineau 
object  to  the  young  lady's  spending  her  portion  of  it? 
Be  gosh !  of  course — not  a  dollar  of  it  is  hers — not  by  a 
kibosh!" 

This  idea  makes  him  a  little' more  confident  that  he 
is  on,  as  he  expresses  it,  "the  right  trail." 

As  Kitson  is  ushered  into  the  private  office,  his  ferret 
eyes  take  cognizance  of  a  small  safe  upon  which  he  sees 
the  name  "Prosper  D.  Tournay.  ' 

"Good  morning,  Monsieur  Jarvis,"  remarks  the 
Creole  advocate,  with  punctilious  politeness.  ' '  Though 
I  know  you  by  sight,  I  have  never  had  the  pleasure  of 
doing  any  business  with  you." 

1 '  Ditto,  ditto !  "responds  the  Yankee  attorney.  ' '  It's 
only  a  very  little  matter  that  I'm  going  to  trouble  you 
about!"  Then  he  goes  on  rapidly,  for  Kitson  has 
thought  out  his  questions  as  he  has  walked  over,  and 
rather  hopes  to  take  the  more  conservative  legal 
gentleman  by  surprise.  "It's  that  property  on  Es- 
planade Street  that  Tournay  made  a  deed  of  in  1833  to 
Simon  S.  Jennings  and  Jennings  deeded  in  '35  to  the 
Societe  Mutuel.  I  am  passing  on  the  title  of  same, 
and  though  Tournay  was  married  in  1832,  and  pur- 
chased said  real  estate  in  1833,  his  wife's  signature  is 
not  on  the  deed,  and  I  find  no  relinquishment  of  com- 
munity of  gains  by  Madame  Tournay  in  the  New  Or- 
leans records." 

Even  as  he  says  this,  Kitson  Jarvis  guesses  that  he 
has  hit  the  man  looking  him  so  blandly  in  the  face  very 
hard. 

Though  Martineau'seyes  have  never  left  his,  though 
his  form  still  stands  erect,  there  is  a  gradual  paleness 
creeping  into  his  face, and  his  moustache  trembles  very, 
very  slightly, as  he  answers:  "  I  was  not  Prosper  Tour- 


BOB    COVINGTON  85 

nay's  attorney  at  that  time.  His  business  did  not  come 
to  our  firm  till  1840.  Probably  the  renunciation  of 
community  rights  is  upon  the  parish  record  where 
Monsieur  Tournay  lived." 

"  Assumption?  "  answers  Jarvis.  "  I  have  had  those 
records  searched.     There  is  no  renunciation  there." 

"  Ah,  but  you  forget  there  is  La  Fourche.  Prosper 
Tournay  had  a  small  plantation  there,  near  Guidrys. 
Probably,  if  you  will  search  you  will  find  it  there." 

This  is  a  terrible  and  unexpected  blow  to  Jarvis.  He 
mutters:  "  Parish  La  Fourche?  I  never  knew  of  that;" 
and  for  a  moment  seems  disconcerted. 

' 'Anyway,  the  title  has  been  passed  upon,"  con- 
tinues Martineau,  his  voice  growing  firmer,  "as  you 
know,  by  a  very  excellent  firm  of  older  days,  Dubois  & 
Merrill.     There  can  be  no  doubt  about  that  title." 

"  No;  I  don't  believe  there  is  any  doubt  about  that 
title.  I'm  sure  there's  no  doubt  about  that  title," 
answers  Kitson,  his  tone  becoming  more  confident,  his 
manner  less  dejected.  Then  he  goes  on:  "  Don't  you 
think  in  looking  over  the  old  papers  of  the  Tournay 
estate — you  handle  it  now,  I  believe — you  could  find 
something  that  would  elucidate  why  Madame  Tour- 
nay's  signature  was  not  necessary  to  that  deed?  Could 
you  not  overhaul  the  contents  of  that  safe,  as  I  want  to 
pass  upon  that  title  at  once?" 

"  That  safe?  "  falters  the  French  gentleman. 

"Yes,  that  safe!"  Here  Jarvis's  smile  becomes  full 
of  latent  insinuation.  "The  one  towards  which  you 
are  glancing,  the  one  marked  'Prosper  D.  Tournay.' 
If  you  can  find  time  in  the  next  few  hours,  just  see  if 
you  can  discover  among  the  papers  in  that  little  iron 
box,  some  reason  why  that  title  was  passed  as  good 
and  unencumbered  by  Dubois  &  Merrill,  and  yet  does 
not  bear  the  signature  of  Madame  Tournay." 

"  I — I  will  try  and  accommodate  you,"  remarks  the 
Creole  lawyer,  holding  himself  very  erect  as  if  he 
hardly  dare  unbend,  for  fear  he  might  falter. 

"Thank  you.  Good  day."  And  Mr.  Jarvis  walks 
out,  muttering  to  himself:  "By  Jove,  Kitson,  shake 
hands!  I  believe  I've  guessed  right,  even  though 
there  may  be  a  renunciation  on  the  records  of  Parish 


86  BOB    COVINGTON 

La  Fourche.  I'll  send  down  a  search ;  it  won't  take 
more  than  a  day  or  two.  But,  whether  I  find  it  or 
not,  there's  some  Tournay  skeleton  locked  up  in  that 
safe,  or  I'll  forfeit  my  certificate  to  practice  law." 

Left  by  himself,  Arvid  Martineau,  after  a  mo- 
ment's agitated  thought,  mutters  these  curious  words: 
"Thank  God!  He  is  a  noble  young  man!  But,  Mon 
Dieu  !  What  will  it  be  for  them  at  best  ?  Oh,  but  it 
must  not  be!  It  must  not  be!  I  have  feared  that 
Esplanade  property — I  should  have  bought  it  long  ago. 
It  is  the  only  title  that  Tournay  transferred!  " 

Then  suddenly  he  rings  his  bell.  His  clerk  comes 
in,  and  he  says:  "Pichoir,  go  to  the  Soci£te  Mutuel  at 
once,"  and  whispers  a  few  brief  sentences. 

And  the  young  man  going  out,  the  old  French  law- 
yer closes  the  door  of  his  outer  office,  locks  himself  in, 
and  murmurs:  "Should  I  not  warn  her  ?  There's  one 
who  is  not  here  — dear  little  Nita.  I  have  dandled  her 
on  my  knee. "  Then  he  breaks  out:  "  Oh,  may  God 
forgive  you,  Prosper  Tournay!  God  forgive  you;  I 
cannot!  Procrastinator !  Dreamer!  Poet!  Sensualist! 
Man  of  too  refined  sensibilities  to  face  thy  own  mis- 
erable mistake,  thou  hast  left  thy  crime  to  crush  two 
poor  innocents !  Grand  Dieu  !  Aie  pitie'  d'elles  ! — aie 
pitie'  d'e  lies!  " 

Then,  brave  gentleman  as  he  is — for  in  Arvid 
Martineau's  veins  flows  the  blood  of  those  who  have 
died  for  France  in  many  a  pitched  battle — he  bursts  out 
crying  like  a  child,  wringing  his  hands  and  sobbing: 
"  Grace !  Grace!  pour  les  innocents!  Take  the  cup 
from  them — Oh,  Father  in  Heaven!  " 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE    LETTER  -FROM    CALIFORNIA. 

Returning  from  this  interview  to  his  office,  Kitson 
arranges  with  a  French  notary  to  run  down  to  La 
Fourche  and  examine  the  records  of  that  parish. 

After  attending  to  the  usual  routine  of  his  office  and 


BOB    COVINGTON  87 

exacting  thirty  dollars  cash  as  a  matter  of  compromise 
from  the  mate  who  has  beaten  the  deck-hand,  Mr. 
Jarvis  goes  to  meditating  upon  the  Tournay  affair. 

"If  I  could  get  that  letter  from  California,"  he 
thinks,  "if  my  suspicion  does  amount  to  anything,  the 
first  attorney  who  gets  the  news  to  Mr.  Bob  Covington, 
will  be  the  one  to  handle  the  pickings."  Here  he  re- 
flects: "By  heaven!  I  can't  be  right!  Martineau 
would  have  got  his  work  in  upon  the  Kentuckian  before 
now,  if  there  had  been  anything  in  it!"  and,  judging 
others  by  himself,  becomes  very  glum. 

But  the  next  morning,  Tuesday,  Mr.  Kitson  Jarvis 
gets  a  sudden  shock  that  knocks  contemplation  out  of 
him  and  sets  him  going  again.  He  has  not  been  in 
his  office  more  than  an  hour  before  he  hears  exclama- 
tions of  surprise  and  dismay  from  his  clerk,  Alfred 
Cotain,  mingled  with  a  gruff,  seafaring  voice. 

Rising,  he  finds  himself  confronted  by  Jackson 
Coulson,  the  captain  of  the  General  Jones,  who  has 
just  swept  away  little  Cotain  from  impeding  his  en- 
trance. The  river-boatman  real  estate  speculator  has 
a  couple  of  papers  in  his  hands  and  the  light  of  battle 
in  his  eyes. 

"  By  the  Etarnal !"  he  screams.  '  'You  miserable  shys- 
ter!— you  legal  slow  poke!  You're  slower  than  the 
John  J.  Roe!  You've  grounded  yourself  on  your 
beef-bones  and  me  too!  " 

"What  is  the — the  matter?"  asks  Kitson,  his  face 
growing  anxious,  for  he  sees  the  affair  is  serious. 

"What  is  the  matter?  This  is  the  matter!  Your 
infernal  dilly-dallying,  Multus  in  parvum,  deferential 
remainders  and  contingent  attainders,  has  busted  me 
all  up  in  my  real  estate  deal !  Damn  it !  Some  one  else 
has  got  the  property,  that's  all !  " 

"Got  the  property?"  gasps  Kitson,  growing  very 
white.  Though  he  does  not  fear  so  much  for  the  real 
estate  as  for  the  secret  that  may  be  hidden  in  the  ab- 
stract of  its  title,  which  is  worth  a  hundred  lots  like 
that  on  Esplanade  Street. 

"Yes;  got  the  property,  by  heaven!  Bought  it 
over  my  head!  Look  at  this  letter!  It  was  sold 
yesterday — and  for  a  hundred  dollars  more  than  I  was 


88  BOB    COVINGTON 

to  get  it  for.  One  hundred  dollars  more,  you  land- 
shark!  Twenty-six  hundred  dollars — that's  what  they 
got  for  it  from  some  sneak  named  Jules  Errard.  The 
title  was  passed  by  a  French  attorney  as  good  in  twenty 
minutes,  and  you  took  seven  weeks  and  then — damn 
it! — you  didn't  know  anything  about  it.  Oh,  you're 
only  fit  for  trying  niggers,  you  are,  and  I'd  smash  your 
brains  out,  if  you  had  any,  if  it  was  not  for  these !" 
He  flourishes  two  papers.  "The  Society  Mutual,  who 
don't  want  any  trouble  with  me,  write  that  they  have 
returned  my  check  for  five  hundred  dollars  as  advance 
payment  on  the  title  and  also  the  hundred  dollars  extra 
they  received  from  Errard.  But  that  doesn't  square 
vie.  That  land  is  worth  all  of  three  thousand  dollars, 
and  by  every  snag  on  the  Mississippi  I've  got  a  good 
mind  to  take  it  out  of  your  hide!" 

Here  the  attorney,  in  the  agitation  of  the  moment, 
makes  a  remark  that  is  unfortunate  for  himself.  He 
snarls:  "Don't  bother  me  with  your  miserable  affairs! 
I've  got  something  more  important  to  think  of." 

But  he  has  not! 

For,  with  a  whoop  of  rage,  Jackson  Coulson  leads  off 
with  his  right  foot,  and  Kitson  goes  down  over  his  desk, 
and  lies  doubled  up  on  the  floor. 

"Take  that  for  your  infernal  Vobiscums  and  Pater 
nostras  and  your  Choctaw  Latin!  Take  that  for 
dallying  in  real  estate  debentures  and  cross-bonds, 
which  are  as  much  ahead  of  you  as  I'm  over  a 
stoker,  you  infernal  Jeremy  Diddler,  you  nigger  law- 
yer, you  non-committal,  compromise  up-hill-and-down- 
tide  son-of-a-sea-cook!  I've  busted  your  biler,  any- 
way! " 

With  this  parting  effusion,  the  man  of  the  river  de- 
parts for  his  boat,  the  General  Jones,  which  even  now 
has  steam  up  at  the  levee,  muttering  to  himself:  "  Oh, 
won't  it  be  hell  and  blazes  for  my  deck-hands  this  trip !  " 

Arising  from  this  interview,  not  so  much  wounded 
in  body  as  in  spirit,  and  showing  no  marks  of  the 
fray — for  Captain  Coulson,  being  accustomed  to  tackle 
"niggers,"  has  not  smitten  him  in  the  head,  but  has 
kicked  him  in  the  stomach — Mr.  Kitson  Jarvis,  after 
he  has  recovered  his  breath  and  sunk  into  his  chair,  to 


BOB    COVINGTON  89 

which  he  has  been  assisted  by  his  clerk,  who  has  looked 
upon  the  affray  with  a  prolonged  grin  and  several  half- 
subdued  snickers,  tries  to  pull  himself,  mentally  and 
physically,  together. 

After  half  an  hour  devoted  to  physical  revival — the 
Captain's  foot  having  been  very  heavy — he  contrives 
to  make  his  way  to  the  Societe  Mutuel.  For  into  his 
mind  has  now  come  the  query:  "Why  the  dickens  did 
anyone  buy  that  property  in  such  a  hurry?  It  is  not 
worth  over  twenty-five  hundred  dollars  at  the  most!  " 

At  the  office  of  that  company  Mr.  Jarvis  finds  that 
the  purchaser  is,  as  Captain  Coulson  had  stated,  some 
one  named  Jules  Errard.  This  individual  had  come  into 
the  Societe  Mutuel  office  and  had  asked  if  the  property 
was  for  sale.  They  had,  considering  that  they  had 
given  Coulson  no  less  than  three  renewals  of  time  for 
search  of  title,  told  him  it  was.  Two  hours  afterward 
Errard  had  returned  and  said  the  title  had  been  passed 
upon  by  his  avocat,  paid  the  money  in  full  by  a  cer- 
tified check  upon  the  Citizens'  Bank,  drawn  to  their 
order,  and  that  their  deed  to  Jules  Errard  was  now  on 
record. 

"  Do  you  know  what  attorney  passed  on  the  title?  " 
asks  Mr.  Jarvis,  nervously. 

"  No,"  answers  the  officer  of  the  company.  "But 
it  was  probably  one  of  the  Creole  avocats.  They  are 
better  up  in  New  Orleans  real  estate  than  you  Ameri- 
can gentlemen.  The  French  lawyer  only  took  two 
hours  to  settle  what  you  have  not  determined  in  seven 
weeks — to  tell  you  the  truth,  your  delay  frightened  me 
about  our  title." 

' '  Yes ;  I'm  a  little  hazy  about  some  of  your  New  Or- 
leans transfers,  your  seignorial  rights  in  the  days  of 
the  early  colonies,  and  your  crown-grants  and  church 
fiefs,"  remarks  Mr.  Jarvis,  who  does  not  mind  if  the 
Societe  Mutuel  think  him  a  fool  as  long  as  they  don't 
"get  onto,"  as  he  expresses  it,  the  more  important 
point  in  the  case. 

He  is  now,  however,  very  anxious  to  find  Monsieur 
Jules  Errard.  From  him  he  can  perhaps  learn  the 
name  of  the  attorney  who  passed  the  title  and  judge 
what  are  the  chances  of  any.  one  else  discovering  a  se- 


90  BOB    COVINGTON 

cret  that  he  thought  he  alone  had  guessed,  though  these 
later  developments  make  him  inclined  to  doubt  his 
sagacity.  For  here  is  another  lawyer  passing  this  title 
as  all  right. 

To  find  Monsieur  Jules  Errard,  Mr.  Jarvis  naturally 
turns  to  the  city  directory,  and,  after  looking  down 
the  £'s,  stares  in  open-eyed  amazement  at  the  name 
of 
"  Errard— Jules  Maxim,  Clerk  with  Arvid  Martineau,  Custom 

House  and  Conti  Streets,  residence  No.  139  Bourbon  Street." 

Then  suddenly  a  great  joy  comes  over  the  acute 
features  of  Mr.  Jarvis.  "  Jules  Errard — Martineau's 
clerk.  Title  passed  by  Arvid  Martineau !  Land  bought 
in  by  Arvid  Martineau  to  prevent  further  investigation 
of  title.  Undoubtedly  a  deed  not  on  record  from 
Jules  Errard  to  Arvid  Martineau.  Ha  ha,  you  French 
fox!'  he  chuckles.  "You're  not  equal  to  the  Yankee 
'possum." 

Then,  despite  a  sickly  feeling  in  the  region  of  his 
stomach,  Coulson's  souvenir  of  his  search  of  title  of  the 
Esplanade  Street  property,  the  attorney  goes  very 
jauntily  to  his  lunch,  and  shortly  after  makes  it  his 
business  to  stroll  into  the  Magasin  du  Sud  of  Mon- 
sieur Pierre  Larost,  who,  as  a  matter  of  business,  knows 
most  of  the  Creole  young  men,  as  well  as  their  reve- 
nues and  credits. 

From  this  gentleman  he  extracts  a  few  words  of  in- 
formation in  regard  to  Jules  Errard. 

"  Do  I  think  Monsieur  Jules  Errard  good  for  twenty- 
six  hundred  dollars?"  jeers  the  keeper  of  the  bazaar, 
with  a  deprecating  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  ' '  Do  I  think 
Monsieur  Jules  Errard  good  for  twenty-six  centimes'} 
He  receives  a  moderate  salary  from  his  employer, 
Martineau,  of  which  he  spends  three-fourths  upon  the 
ladies,  the  other  quarter  upon  himself,  and  now  has 
come  to  grief  upon  the  race  last  Saturday." 

"Right  you  are!  "  assents  Jarvis.  "Then  I'll  not 
take  him  on  Bolster's  bail  bond, "and  so  saunters  out. 

Coming  from  this,  Kitson  laughs:  "I  have  called 
your  little  game,  Arvid  Martineau,  and  it  won't 
work."  But  here  he  ruefully  scratches  his  head  and 
thinks:  "I  haven't  got  the  evidence;  I've  only  the 


BOB    COVINGTON  QI 

suspicion,  and  Martineau  may  bluff  me  off  if  I  haven't 
got  the  proof  dead  to  rights.  Hang  it,  he's  evidently 
working  for  the  girls — of  course — executor's  big  steal- 
ings— no  one  to  call  him  to  account!  Oh,  you  old 
French  scoundrel,  you!  Wait  till  I  get  my  fingers  in 
your  pie!  " 

But  the  pie  of  the  Creole  avocat,  though  its  odors  are 
extremely  savory,  seems  very  far  distant,  and  a  little 
indistinct  and  hazy  to  the  anxious  Kitson. 

However,  joy  cometh  with  the  following  morning. 
Entering  his  office  early  on  Wednesday,  his  clerk 
lays  a  letter  in  front  of  him,  and  says:  "That's  what 
you've  been  looking  for,  from  California,  is  it  not?  " 
Gazing  at  it,  it  bears  the  postmark  of  San  Francisco, 
March  6,  1854.  But  Jarvis  does  not  wait  long  in  ex- 
amination of  the  envelope;  it  is  the  inside  that  he 
wants. 

And  he  gets  it  as  follows: 

TEHAMA  HOUSE, 
San  Francisco,  Cal.  ,  March  5,  1854. 
Kitson  Jarvis,  Esq., 

Attorney-at-Law, 

Lafayette  Street,  New  Orleans,  La. 
Dear  Sir :  In  reply  to  your  letter  of  February  10th,  in  regard 
to  property  on  Esplanade  Street,  New  Orleans,  the  deed  of 
which,  from  Prosper  Delaunay  Tournay  to  Simon  S.  Jennings, 
was  without  the  signature  of  Eulalie  Camila,  title  to  which  was 
passed  upon  as  valid  and  unencumbered,  by  Dubois  &  Merrill,  of 
which  firm  I  was  junior  partner  at  that  time,  and  which  prop- 
erty was  later  passed  upon  again  when  deeded  to  Societ6  Mutuel, 
of  which  we  were  attorneys,  I  can  say  that  notwithstanding  the 
absence  of  the  signature  of  said  Eulalie  Camila, and  the  non-re- 
nunciation by  her. of  community  rights,  that  the  deed  of  Pros- 
per Delaunay  Tournay  was  good,  sufficient,  and  unencumbered 
by  any  lien  as  to  community  property,  or  partnership  of  gains. 
I  remember  the  affair  very  well,  notwithstanding  the  long 
lapse  of  time,  on  account  of  the  peculiarity  connected  with  the 
transaction,  and  without  wishing  to  do  injury  to  any  one,  or  to 
disclose  any  social  secrets  of  the  late  Prosper  Delaunay  Tour- 
nay, for  my  professional  reputation  I  will  refer  you  to  the  Civil 
Code  of  Louisiana,  Article  35,  also  Articles  175,  945,  and  1462. 
A  hint  to  a  practicing  lawyer  of  your  State  is  sufficient. 


92  BOB    COVINGTON 

Further  particulars  can  be  obtained  of  one  Faval  Bigore 
Poussin,  Notary,  of  Guidrys,  Parish  La  Fourche,  Louisiana, 
who  was  living  when  I  left  the  State,  though  of  advanced  age, 
and  whose  affidavit  I  brought  with  me  in  my  old  papers  to  San 
Francisco,  having  been  petitioned  by  Tournay  not  to  affix  the 
same  to  abstract  of  title.  This  paper  was  unfortunately  des- 
troyed in  the  fire  of  San  Francisco,  June,  1850. 

I  know  professionally  that  said  affidavit  ought  to  have  been 
attached  to  abstract  of  title;  but  the  pressure  brought  to  bear 
upon  us  by  Tournay,  who  was  a  great  personal  friend  of  our 
senior  partner,  Mr.  Dubois,  was  of  such  a  character  that  we  hes- 
itated, delayed  the  matter,  and  finally  in  the  lapse  of  years 
neglected  to  do  the  same.  Even  now  I  write  upon  the  subject 
with  considerable  regret,  but  since  you  choose  to  bring  up  the 
affair,  am  compelled  to  give  you  the  information  you  ask,  on 
account  of  the  Societe  Mutuel.  This  I  have  done  in  a  way  per- 
fectly plain  to  any  one  cognizant  of  Louisiana  law,  and  the 
articles  of  the  Civil  Code  that  I  have  enumerated. 

Yours  respectfully, 

ASA  J.  MERRILL. 

P.  S. — I  may  also  state  that  Tournay  would  never  have  made 
said  deed,  had  he  known  the  questions  he  would  have  to  answer 
to  make  that  title  good  and  complete.  I  will  further  say,  that 
so  far  as  I  know,  Tournay,  who  was  a  dabbler  in  science  and 
dreamer  in  poetry,  never  made  another  transfer  of  any  other 
part  of  the  Esplanade  real  estate  during  the  life  of  said  Eulalie 
Camila,  fearing  a  deed  with  his  single  signature  would  cause 
questions  that  would  lead  to  the  general  knowledge  of  a  fact  he 
wished  to  keep  from  public  comment.  A.  J.  M. 

On  reading  this,  Mr.  Kitson,  who  is  pretty  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  Civil  Code  of  his  State,  makes  him- 
self doubly  sure  by  pulling  down  the  volume,  reads 
over  the  articles  noted  in  the  letter,  gives  a  prolonged 
whistle,  and  mutters:  "I've  got 'em!  Those  girls' scalps 
are  in  my  hands!  And  by  George,  I've  got  Martineau, 
too!  Seems  to  me  this  gentleman  has  been  running 
very  close  to  embezzlement!  Aha!  my  representative 
of  the  old  regime. " 

He  rings  his  bell,  and  half  an  hour  afterward  a 
messenger  is  despatched  to  the  French  notary  who  is 
searching   the  papers  in  La  Fourche  Parish,  bearing 


BOB    COVINGTON  93 

certain  questions  to  be  asked  of  one  Faval  Bigore 
Poussin.  This  man  is  instructed  to  take  relays  of 
horses  so  as  to  catch  Mr.  Jarvis's  agent,  if  possible,  be- 
fore he  has  left  the  county  town  of  La  Fourche. 

This  being  done,  Kitson  turns  the  matter  over  in  his 
mind,  for  he  likes  to  look  at  propositions  from  all  sides. 
After  a  few  minutes'  intellectual  converse  with  himself, 
he  ejaculates:  "  Poussin! — the  name  Eulalie  was  mar- 
ried under!  I  wonder  if  the  notary  Poussin  played  the 
father  to  the  girl.  By  Jove!  perhaps  he  washer  father! 
You  never  can  tell  where  these  social  complications  in 
this  part  of  the  world  are  going  to  lead  you  to.  But  I 
must  be  moving!  Should  Martineau  get  a  hint  I  know 
as  much  as  I  do,  for  his  own  safety  he  would  disclose 
his  secret  before  my  jaws  could  wag  and  so  cut  me 
out  of  the  best  piece  of  business  I've  ever  run  against. " 

With  this  idea  he  writes  a  short  note  addressed  to 
"Robert  Boone  Covington,  Esq.,  St.  Charles  Hotel," 
asking  that  gentleman  if  he  can  possibly  step  over  to 
his  office,  as  he  wishes  to  speak  to  him  on  a  matter  of 
important  business.  This  Jarvis  gives  to  his  clerk,  tell- 
ing him  to  deliver  it  in  person  and  get  an  answer,  if 
possible,  forthwith. 

To  him  are  brought  back  very  shortly,  the  following 
lines: 

Wednesday  Afternoon. 

My  Dear  Sir  :  I  am  too  busy  having  a  frolic  down  here  to 
bother  myself  with  business  just  at  present ;  but  if  you  will 
call  and  see  me  at  the  St.  Charles  Hotel  this  evening,  I  can  give 
you  about  a  minute  and  a  quarter  of  my  time,  a  cocktail,  and  a 
cigar. 

After  next  Saturday's  race,  however,  I  will  contrive  to  call 
upon  you,  on  the  Monday  following. 

Yours  in  haste, 

Robert  B.  Covington. 

44  Yes,  I  suppose  he  Shaving  a  high  old  time.  Ken- 
tucky blood,  eh?"  ejaculates  the  lawyer,  and  he 
mutters :  "  You  darned  fool !  if  you  knew  what  is  ahead 
of  you  you'd  be  jumping  over  to  this  office  quicker  than 
if  you  were  on  the  back  of  a  mustang.  You  lucky 
devil!" 

"Any  way,  I'll  have  a  go  at  my  dandy  to-night!    No 


94  BOB    COVINGTON 

one  shall  get  their  finger  in  this  pie  ahead  of  Kitson 
Jarvis.  But  it  will  be  only  hints  of  his  mighty  good 
fortune  young  Covington'll  get,  until  I  have  his  signa- 
ture for  my  commission  in  the  matter." 

Acting  upon  this  idea,  Mr.  Kitson  Jarvis,  arraying 
himself  in  his  best  black  broadcloth  suit,  makes  his  ap- 
pearance at  the  St.  Charles  Hotel  early  in  the  evening, 
and  chances  to  meet  Mr.  Bob  almost  at  the  entrance 
of  that  gorgeous  establishment.  To  him  he  rapidly 
introduces  himself. 

"Ah,  yes! — the  attorney  who  wrote  tome,  to-day," 
answers  the  Kentuckian,  genially  but  hurriedly.  ' '  But, 
I  haven't  time  to  talk  to  you  now,  and  I  have  to  defer 
my  cocktail  and  cigar  hospitality  till  next  meeting.  I  am 
happy  to  hear,  however,  that  you  hint  that  there  is 
some  property  coming  to  me."  For  the  attorney's  re- 
marks, though  very  hasty,  have  been  extremely  guarded. 
"At  present,  you  must  excuse  me;  I  have  an  engage- 
ment with  my  cousin,  Miss  Tournay,"  and  Bob 
moves  on. 

"And  afterward?"  suggests  the  attorney. 

"Afterward,  I  have  some  gentlemen  to  sup  with 
me  at  the  Orleans  Club." 

"  Can't  you  give  me  five  minutes  there?  " 

"Yes;  I  presume  I  can,"  remarks  the  young  man; 
"about  twelve  o'clock.     Are  you  a  member?  " 

"No,"  replies  Jarvis,  the  delight  of  whose  life 
would  have  been  to  have  had  entree  to  that  home  of 
the  young  bloods  of  New  Orleans. 

"Very  well;  send  up  your  name,  and  I'll  try  and 
see  you.  At  present — I  believe  I'm  late  now.  You 
will  please  excuse. me — though  I'm  glad  to  hear  you've 
good  news  for  me.  I  cannot  keep  my  cousin  wait- 
ing." 

"And  the  Kentuckian  strides  rapidly  away,  leaving 
Jarvis  looking  at  him  and  thinking:  "  From  his  talk, 
I  should  judge  he's  very  anxious  to  look  into  that 
gal's  bright  eyes.  My  commission  goes  up  five  per 
cent. ! " 

According  to  schedule,  however,  about  midnight 
Kitson  makes  his  appearance  on  Charles  Street  at  the 
portals  of  the  young-blood  club  of  New  Orleans  of 


BOB    COVINGTON  95 

that  day,  here  to  receive  shock,  astonishment,  and 
then — shock  again. 

On  giving  his  name  to  the  sable  servant  at  the 
entrance,  he  is  shown  into  the  reception  room;  but  a 
few  moments  after,  the  servitor  makes  his  appearance, 
holding  Jarvis's  card  in  his  hand,  with  a  very  solemn 
face  and  frightened  manner,  and  remarks:  "  Mistah 
Covington  begs  to  be  excused.  He  has  business  of 
such  'portance  dat  he  can't  see  yo',  sah. " 

"Why,  I've  got  an  appointment  with  him!  "cries 
the  attorney;  then  suggests,  slipping  a  quarter  into  the 
outstretched  hand  of  the  club  flunkey:  "He  cannot 
understand!  Tell  him  it's  Mr.  Kitson  Jarvis,  attorney 
and  counselor-at-law  and  Proctor  in  Admiralty !  Re- 
mind him  I'm  waiting  for  him !  " 

"  I  dahsen't remind  him,  sah!  "  remarks  the  colored 
.functionary.  "  Mistah  La  Farge  told  me  not  to  come 
into  de  room  agin!  " 

"  Very  well.  I  will  wait  for  him.  By  the  Lord!  I'll 
wait  for  this  buck  who  thinks  more  of  fun  than  he  does 
of  ducats!  "  mutters  the  attorney,  and  sits  there  for  an 
hour, glumly  cogitating :  • '  The  idiot !  The  dashed  fool ! 
The  blanked  run-away,  high -play  scapegrace!  I  sup- 
pose he's  at  poker  now,  that's  the  matter  with  him !  He 
don't  guess  what  I've  got  to  tell  him!  He  doesn't 
know  he's  the  darnedest  fool  for  luck  this  side  of 
Canaan!  " 

So,  filled  with  rage  at  Covington,  the  attorney  waits 
until  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  that  gentleman 
comes  hurriedly  down,  accompanied  by  Talliaferro  and 
La  Farge.  In  the  hall  Jarvis  steps  out  to  meet  him, 
but  is  greeted  with  these  discouraging  words:  "You'll 
excuse  me;  but  I  can't  see  you,  my  dear  sir." 

Then  the  young  man  for  an  instant  leads  the  attorney 
aside  and  whispers:  "I  would  not  disclose  it  to  any 
one  else,  but  perhaps,  Mr.  Jarvis,  I  owe  an  explanation 
to  you,  who  have  waited  for  me.  Not  a  word  to  any- 
body.    At  present  I  am  engaged  in  a  duel Coming, 

La  Farge ! " 

Bob  steps  into  a  waiting  carriage  with  his  friends 
and  hurriedly  drives  off,  leaving  the  lawyer  struck  down 
by  his  awful  words,  for  he  is  muttering  to  himself:  "  If 


96  BOB    COVINGTON 

they  kill  him — if  they  kill  my  client!     Holly  Jerush! 
what  will  become  of  my  commission?  " 

Then  Mr.  Kitson  Jarvis  goes  to  praying — something 
he  had  never  done  before:  "God  save  him!  Don't 
let  his  young  blood  knock  him  out!  Mercy — mercy 
for  my  client !  "  but  here  he  begins  to  meditate  on  who 
is  Covington's  next  of  kin,  contemplating  immediate 
letters  to  them  on  the  news  of  his  demise. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

JULES   DELABORDE,   THE    FIRE-EATER. 

The  news  that  Mr.  Covington  has  imparted  to  the 
attorney  is  unfortunately  true,  for  events  have  been< 
running  along  pretty  fast  with  the  Kentuckian  since 
the  Monday  evening  on  which  he  threatened  to  make 
a  Romeo  of  himself.  Some  have  been  brought  about 
by  Monsieur  Martineau's  extraordinary  course;  some 
by  his  own  dashing  impetuosity,  one  or  two  others 
by  Monsieur  La  Farge,  the  Creole  exquisite  and  Louis- 
iana beau. 

The  next  day,  Tuesday,  after  Mr.  Covington  had 
threatened  to  do  his  Romeo  act,  he  strolls  over  in  the 
afternoon  to  Dauphine  Street,  thinking  he  will  get  tea 
from  the  fair  hands  of  his  cousin. 

Here,  to  his  dismay,  he  receives  word  by  Mrs.  Joyce 
that  Miss  Tournay  is  too  indisposed  either  to  see  him 
or  to  go  to  the  French  theatre  this  evening,  as  she 
promised.  "  Louise  excited  herself  too  much  yes- 
terday over  the  disappointment  that  would  have 
come  to  her  had  it  not  been  for  your  good  offices 
about  her  ball  dress,  dear  Mr.  Covington,"  says  the 
chaperone. 

"Please  give  Miss  Tournay  my — my  heartfelt  re- 
grets," mutters  Bob ;  then  says,  anxiously :  ' '  She — she 
is  not  very  ill  ?  " 

"Oh,  no;  she  will  be  well  enough  to  see  you  to- 
morrow evening.  She  left  that  message  for  you.  You 
won't  forget  Wednesday  at  eight?" 


BOB    COVINGTON  97 

"  Forget  it?"  ejaculates  Covington.  "Not  while 
my  head  is  on  my  shoulders  !  "  and  going  away  some- 
what cast  down  in  spirits,  wonders  if  his  "awful break" 
about  cousinship  had  anything  to  do  with  Miss  Tour- 
nay's  not  receiving  him. 

Therefore  this  gentleman  does  not — as  per  contract 
with  himself — do  his  "Romeo  act"  this  day,  but,  get- 
ting to  his  club,  kills  time  with  billiards  till  evening, 
then  sends  a  box  of  bonbons,  big  enough  to  make  a 
well  girl  sick,  to  his  invalid  charmer,  and  goes  to  play- 
ing poker  to  while  away  the  night. 

The  next  day,  though  it  is  a  difficult  matter  to  keep 
from  the  bright  eyes  that  are  now  running  in  his 
imagination,  our  young  gallant  strolls  from  his  hotel  to 
the  Orleans  Club,  where,  in  that  establishment  which 
is  the  headquarters  of  all  the  bloods  of  New  Orleans  of 
that  day,  he  contrives  to  keep  his  inamorata  from  his 
mind  for  three  or  four  hours  by  dawdling  away  his  time ; 
a  portion  of  it  being  spent  in  discussing  horseflesh  in 
general  and  Lexington's  chances  for  next  Saturday's 
race  with  Colonel  Talliaferro,  Poindexter,  and  several 
other  well-known  turfmen,  and  the  other  portion  in 
company  with  Monsieur  La  Farge,  who  has  stepped 
into  the  dining  room. 

Here  the  two  young  men  discuss  one  of  maitre 
d'hStel  Santini's  far-famed  lunches,  the  excellence  of 
which  is  driving  the  great  restaurateurs  of  New  Or- 
leans, Messrs.  Victor,  Moreau,  and  Miguel,  to  despair. 
In  easy  conversation  over  their  oysters,  crabs, 
terrapin  and  game,  the  young  Louisianian  tells  the 
Kentuckian  of  some  of  the  troubles  that  have  come 
upon  him  on  account  of  his  being  on  the  Invitation 
Committee  for  the  approaching  ball  of  the  Pelican  Club. 

"You  will  present  my  compliments,  I  hope,  to  your 
cousin,  Miss  Tournay,"  says  the  Creole,  "and  say 
that  I  had  the  honor  of  leaving  my  card  for  her 
yesterday.  It  was  rather  early  in  the  afternoon  for 
a  formal  call,  but  my  duties  on  the  committee  have 
been  so  great  that  they  compelled  me  to  take  the  only 
opportunity  that  presented  itself.  What  I  had  sup- 
posed would  be  one  of  the  most  agreeable  occupations 
of  my  life,  trying  to  make  my  friends  happy  by  invita- 


98  BOB    COVINGTON 

tions  for  Thursday  evening's  fete,  has  become  to  me 
at  last  a  matter  of  annoyance,  and  in  certain  respects 
quite  disagreeable." 

"Why,  I  had  supposed  it  would  be  just  the  re- 
verse," laughs  Covington.  "  Importuned,  petted,  and 
made  much  of  by  the  ladies  for  those  little  cards  that 
are  now  the  most  valuable  things  in  the  world  in  their 
eyes,  and  delicately  requested  by  your  gentlemen 
friends  for  similar  favors." 

"  That  is  my  trouble,"  remarks  La  Farge.  "The 
invitations  have  reached  their  limit,  but  the  people 
wanting  to  go  to  the  ball  have  not.  Besides,  applica- 
tion has  been  made  to  me  by  parties  who  cannot  be 
considered  eligible  to  the  honor.  Some  rather  dis- 
tressing affairs  have  happened  with  ladies  whom  we 
would  not  invite  and  yet  it  was  difficult  politely  to 
refuse — also  one  or  two  serious  matters  with  gentlemen 
whose  applications  for  entree  we  did  not  regard  as 
worthy  of  consideration.  I'm  afraid  I've  made  more 
enemies  than  I  have  friends  in  the  matter.  The  ex- 
treme exclusiveness  of  the  ball  has  been  my  difficulty; 
to  dances  at  the  St.  Charles  nearly  everybody  goes 
who  wishes  ;  but  the  ball  of  the  Pelican  Club  is  a  dif- 
ferent thing.  Even  now  I  expect  some  trouble  with' 
Monsieur  Jules  Delaborde." 

"What!  That  professional  gambler  ?"  mutters  the 
Kentuckian.  "  Did  he  suppose  that  he  would  obtain 
entree?" 

"Whether  he  did  or  not,"  replies  the  Creole,  "  I  am 
told  he  has  made  threats  against  me  because  his  name 
has  been  ignored  by  the  Committee.  But  you'll  ex- 
cuse me — I  see  Major  McBurney,  who  wishes  to  speak 
to  me — probably  about  some  other  of  these  annoy- 
ances." 

"Certainly!"  answers  Bob,  "only  don't  forget  my 
supper  this  evening,  eleven  o'clock — here!" 

"I  shall  not  forget,"  answers  the  Creole,  and  steps 
over  to  Major  McBurney,  who  is  apparently  anxious 
to  see  him. 

Left  by  himself,  the  Kentuckian  dawdles  over  coffee 
and  cigar.  The  dining-room  is  gradually  becoming 
deserted,  its  hum  is  dying  away;   voices  come  to  him 


BOB    COVINGTON  99 

from  the  next  table.  Two  men  are  speaking  in  under- 
tones to  each  other. 

"  Norn  de  DieuT  says  one  man,  "  I  shall  insult  that 
dandy  of  the  old  regime  to-night.  He  will  not  dance 
at  his  Pelican  Ball ;  his  carcass  shall  be  adorning  the 
St.  Louis  cemetery." 

"Diable/  Don't  speak  so  loud!"  whispers  the 
other.  "I  don't  owe  La  Farge  any  good  will  my- 
self." 

A  few  moments  after,  the  two  leave  their  table,  and 
Covington,  contriving  to  turn  around,  notes  that  the 
one  making  the  threat  is  Monsieur  Jules  Delaborde. 

Though  not  particularly  acquainted  with  the  man, 
he  is  very  well  aware  that  he  bears  a  reputation  for 
being  a  dead  shot  and  also  a  perfect  master  of  the 
small  sword.  For  Delaborde  had  been  a  maitre 
d'armes  in  a  French  cavalry  regiment  and  has  to  a 
certain  extent  fought  himself  into  society. 

Though  making  some  pretensions  to  style,  birth  and 
breeding,  it  is  rumored  Delaborde's  living  is  gained  by 
a  surreptitious  connection  with  a  well-known  gambling 
house  of  the  Rue  Royale.  Turning  this  over  in  his 
mind,  Bob  knows  the  matter  is  a  serious  one  for  L? 
Farge. 

These  rather  morbid  considerations  of  his  friend's 
chances  are  broken  in  upon  by  Talliaferro  joining  him 
at  his  table. 

"What  the  dickens  is  the  matter  with  you,  my  boy?" 
says  the  genial  Colonel.  "You  look  morose  enough 
to  be  in  love." 

At  which  Bob  gives  a  tremendous  start,  but  answers: 
"It's  not  the  game  of  love  I'm  thinking  of,  but  the 
god  of  war." 

"Humph!    You're  in  trouble  with  some  gentleman?" 

"  No;  but  I'm  afraid  a  friend  of  mine  will  be."  And 
Covington,  knowing  very  well  the  Colonel's  reputation 
as  a  past  master  of  the  art  and  etiquette  of  the  duello, 
tells  him  the  conversation  he  has  just  heard  at  the 
neighboring  table. 

"Good  Lord!"  mutters  Talliaferro.  "This  affair 
is  a  serious  one!  That  Delaborde  is  just  enough  of  a 
gentleman  to  make  it  practically  impossible  to  ignore 


IOO  BOB    COVINGTON 

a  challenge  from  him.  But  he  is  as  dead  a  shot  as 
any  man  in  the  pistol  gallery,  and  even  more  accom- 
plished with  the  small  sword.  Still —  "  here  the  old 
gentleman  reflects —  "  I  think  I  may  be  of  advantage 
to  your  friend;"  then  adds:  "Look  here,  my  boy! 
If  the  difficulty  comes  to  a  head,  induce  La  Farge  to 
ask  you  to  be  his  second," 

"  I  think  he  intends  that  ;  otherwise  he  would  not 
have  spoken  to  me  about  it,"  replies  Covington. 

"Very  well;  in  that  case  come  immediately  to 
me." 

"  You  think  you  can  be  of  assistance?  " 

"  If  you  act  as  I  advise — yes!  Only,  get  word  with 
your  man  and  tell  him  in  case  of  a  difficulty  to  so  de- 
port himself  that  he  must  be  the  challenged  party." 

"  That  he  may  select  his  weapons?  " 

"Of  course!  Take  care  and  give  your  friend  this 
counsel  at  once! " 

11 1  will!  "  replies  Bob,  and  a  few  minutes  after,  get- 
ting chance  of  word  with  La  Farge,  he  relates  just  what 
he  heard  at  the  neighboring  table,  and  gives  him  Tal- 
liaferro's  advice. 

"Which  I  will  take!"  mutters  the  Creole.  "I'm 
not  going  to  throw  away  my  life  if  I  can  help  it.  Be- 
sides— hang  it! — I'm  a  very  poor  hand  with  the  coliche- 
marde,  and  between  ourselves,  by  no  means  a  good  shot. 
But  just  the  same,"  adds  the  young  man,  "  I  will  meet 
any  man,  big  or  little,  if  necessary  for  the  preservation 
of  my  good  name,  the  honor  of  my  kindred,  or  the  fair 
repute  of  any  lady  whom  I  hold  in  esteem." 

"My  sentiments,  also!  "  says  the  Kentuckian.  "And 
if  that  scoundrel  puts  you  hors  de  combat,  he  shall  have 
to  do  with  me!  " 

The  two  young  men's  hands  clasp  as  they  voice  the 
sentiments  of  the  chivalry  of  the  South  and  West  of 
that  day — mistaken,  foolish,  bloodthirsty,  if  you  will — 
but  still  regarded  by  them  as  embodying  the  highest 
principles  of  manhood,  courage,  and  honor. 

But  -thoughts  of  war  are  soon  knocked  out  of  the 
Kentuckian's  head  by  a  note  brought  to  him  from  the 
St.  Charles  by  Mr.  Caesar. 

Dainty,   perfumed,  and  bearing  evidence   of  lady's 


BOB    COVXNGTONJ  1 01 

handicraft,  apparently  it  has  been  written  in  a  hurry, 
on  a  card  and  under  great  excitement.     It  is: 


Wednesday,  April  5,  1854. 

Dear  Bob  : 

Mon 

sieur  Martineau  wishes  Nita  and  me  to 

go   to 

Paris   im?nediately.      Please   come    and 

see  me 

instantly,  and  give  me  your  advice. 

Yours, 

Louise  C.  Tournay. 

P.  S 

— I  don't  want  to  go. 

Inspecting  this,  Mr.  Covington  mutters  in  dismay: 
1 'Go  immediately  to  Paris?  Great  David!  Go  to 
Paris?  Not  by  a  jugful!  I  suppose  it's  something 
about  that  infernal  claim  Martineau  seems  so  fright- 
ened about." 

These  considerations  tend  to  make  Mr.  Covington 
very  anxious  to  do  his  "  Romeo  act  "  this  day;  a  res- 
olution that  is  perchance  quickened  by  the  extreme 
beauty  of  the  young  lady  as  he  walks  into  the  parlor 
of  the  Tournay  mansion,  where  he  is  delighted  to  find 
Miss  Louise  alone. 

She  has  apparently  been  waiting  for  him,  for  she 
cries :  ' 4 1  knew  you'd  come  as  soon  as  you  received  my 
note.  You  can  always  be  relied  upon  when  I'm  in 
trouble." 

"Tell  me  all  about  it  !"  says  Bob,  eagerly. 
.  "Well,  it  is  very  little,  but  still  very  important," 
replies  his  charmer.  "Monsieur  Martineau  sent  for 
me  to-day  and  told  me  that  he  thought  it  best  for  my 
interests  for  me  to  leave  by  direct  steamboat  for  Paris 
as  soon  as  possible.  Nita  will  join  me  in  the  French 
capital  from  New  York,  as  soon  as  word  can  be  sent 
to  her  and  proper  arrangements  made." 

"  Is  not  this  very  sudden?"  asks  the  Kentuckian, 
who  now  fears  the  avocafs  suggestion  must  have  been 
prompted  by  the  impending  claim. 

"Yes;  just  at  present  it  is,"  replies  Miss  Louise. 
"  But  this  is  not  the  first  time  he  has  suggested  that  I 


yo?'.  BOB    COVINGTON 

pack  my  trunks.  Monsieur  Martineau  advised  imme- 
diately after  my  father's  death  that  both  my  sister  and 
I  should  go  direct  to  Paris.  You  talk  this  matter  over 
with  him  and  tell  him  that  I  don't  want  to  go — that  I'd 
sooner  remain  here — that  I  know  I  shall  like  New 
Orleans  society." 

''Why  don't  you  speak  to  him?  You  could  per- 
suade any  man!"  mutters  Covington,  as  indeed  he 
thinks  she  can;  Miss  Louise  looking  very  persuasive  to 
him,  in  a  simple  white  muslin  gown. 

"But  not  Monsieur  Martineau!"  replies  the  young 
lady.  "I  think  he  has  a  horror  of  my  entering  society. 
Every  time  I  mention  ball  or  ball-dress  to  him  I  seem 
to  give  him  a  fever  and  ague — chiefly  the  ague.  Even 
now  he  has  sent  for  Mrs.  Joyce,  I  am  sure,  to  induce 
her  to  use  her  influence  with  me  to  make  me  pack  up 
and  get  away  to  Paris." 

"All  right!  I'll  settle  him !"  remarks  the  Kentuck- 
ian,  complaisantly. 

"  Will  you?  Thank  you !"  answers  Louise.  "I  didn't 
mind  it  once;  but — but  now  I — I  won't  go — that's  all 
about  it!  "  and  she  stamps  a  little  foot. 

"And  you  shan't!  "  cries  Bob,  and  perchance  would 
stay  longer  did  not  the  lateness  of  the  hour  make 
him  hurry  to  Custom  House  Street. 

Fortunately,  the  Creole  lawyer  is  in.  He  is  just  dis- 
missing a  lady  from  his  private  office.  Pamela  is 
coming  out  with  faltering  steps  and  a  dazed  look  on  her 
prim  face.  Meeting  the  Kentuckian,  she  gives  a  sud- 
den and  startled  "  Oh!  "  and  scarce  returning  his  bow, 
seems  to  shudder  as  she  brushes  hurriedly  past  him. 

A  moment  after,  Covington  is  shown  in  to  the  Creole 
attorney.  Martineau,  after  shaking  hands  with  him, 
remarks:  "Mrs.  Joyce  was  here  a  few  moments  ago, 
on,  I  imagine,  the  same  errand  that  brought  you.  She 
came  to  tell  me  that  Mademoiselle  Tournay  wished  to 
defer  her  trip  to  Paris." 

"You've  struck  it!"  replies  Bob.  "My  cousin 
Louise  is  going  to  have  a  high  old  time  in  New  Or- 
leans society.  She  knows  that !  She  is  wild  about  the 
Pelican  ball,  as  what  young  girl  would  not  be — and 
I'm  going  to  see  her  through  with  it.  "  Here  the  at- 
torney's serious  face  stops  him. 


BOB    COVINGTON  103 

"You  know  as  well  as  I,  Monsieur  Covington,"  says 
Martineau  earnestly,  "that  I  only  wish  to  act  for  the 
interests  of  Louise  and  Nita.  These  seem  to  me  best 
guarded  by  the  young  ladies  living  in  Paris." 

"  It  is  that  infernal  claim?  " 

"Yes." 

"There's  danger  of  its  being  set  up? " 

"  I  am  afraid  so.  Certain  things  that  have  come  to 
me  in  the  last  day  or  two  make  me  think  another 
lawyer  has  suspicions  of  the  affair.  I  can  put  it  no 
more  definitely  to  you  at  present,  but  believe  me  when 
I  tell  you,  as  God  is  my  judge,  if  that  man  discovers  a 
secret  I  have  guarded — sometimes,  against  my  own 
interests — that  it  will  be  better  that  the  two  girls  are 
away  from  here.  Then  no  papers  could  be  served  upon 
them;  I — I  could  make  a  better  compromise." 

"Well,  I'll  be  equally  candid  with  you,"  answers 
Bob.  "At  present  I  shall  not  oppose  your  wishes  in 
the  matter;  but  certain  things  may  occur  that — that 
may  give  me  the  right  to  dictate  in  this  matter." 

"How — how  so?"  whispers  Martineau,  in  agitated 
voice. 

"I  may  find  I  have  a  claim  myself  !  " 

"  Mon  Dieu!  What  do  you  mean?"  The  avocat 
has  bounded  from  his  chair. 

"Tell  you  perhaps  in  a  day  or  two,"  laughs  the  Ken- 
tuckian.  "If  so,  I  shall  not  permit  the  young  lady 
we  are  speaking  of  to  go  to  Europe.  By  the  by,  do 
you  know  anything  of  an  attorney  here  called  Kitson 
Jarvis? " 

"Kit — son  Jar — vis?"  The  words  come  out  of  the 
Creole's  mouth  siowly,  his  face  becoming  flushed,  then 
deathly  pale. 

"Yes,  Kitson  Jarvis!  You  don't  know  anything  to 
his  discredit  ?  He  can  be  trusted  ?  "  queries  Coving- 
ton, noting  the  peculiar  expression  on  Martineau's 
countenance. 

"No;  I — I  know  nothing  to  his  discredit." 

"Glad  to  hear  that,"  replies  Bob.  "I  had  a  note 
from  him  to-day,  saying  that  he  had  discovered  a 
claim  to  certain  property  1  had  in  Louisiana.  But  I 
will  say  good   day;  you  do  not  look  well,  Monsieur 


104  BOB    COVINGTON 

Martineau.  Is  it  that  old  trouble  you  complained  of 
on  Sunday  evening  ?  "  and  the  Kentucky  beau  takes  his 
departure. 

Gazing  at  his  retreating  form,  Martineau  gives  a 
low,  broken  sigh,  and  murmurs:  "  Mistricorde  / 
Miskricorde  !     The  hand  has  fallen!  " 


CHAPTER    X. 

PARADISE    AND    THE    PERI. 

About  eight  o'clock  on  this  evening  Mr.  Covington, 
after  having  achieved  an  elaborate  toilet  at  the  hands 
of  Mr.  Caesar,  raps  on  the  door  of  the  Tournay  resi- 
dence, and  there  is  a  little  tremble  in  his  voice  as  he 
asks  the  answering  servant  if  the  ladies  are  in. 

The  servitor  having  shown  him  into  the  salon  and 
taken  his  card,  the  gentleman  mutters  to  himself: 
"  Bob,  keep  your  spunk  up!  "  for  this  is  the  evening  he 
has  determined  to  "do  the  Romeo  act  "  Nothing  can 
stop  him  now;  he  is  bound  to  speak  before  the  girl 
knows  she  will  be  dependent  upon  him,  the  at- 
torney's conversation  this  day  having  impressed  him 
with  the  idea  that  the  claim  that  is  hanging  over  the 
Tournay  estate  will  very  shortly  be  made. 

"I  must  get  ahead  of  that,"  thinks  the  generous 
fellow,  as  he  looks  about  him  and  sees,  somewhat  to 
his  surprise,  the  room  is  more  brilliantly  lighted  than 
usual. 

A  moment  after,  he  receives  a  little  sensation.  Mrs 
Joyce  comes  in  to  him,  her  face  pale  and  eyes  startled 
and  falters:  "  Mr.  Covington,  Louise  asked  me  to — to 
excuse  her  to  you  for — for  a  few  moments.  She  has  a 
little  surprise  for  you.  I  think  she  promised  it  to  you 
some  days  ago.  This  is  Wednesday  evening — the 
evening  she  asked  you  to  let  her  entertain  you.  I — I 
hope  you  won't  be  angry  with  her  for  keeping  you 
waiting." 

"Angry?"  cries  Bob  quite  surprised,  not  so  much  at 
these    remarks — though   the   last   one  seems  to    him 


feOS    COVINGTON  105 

rather  curious — but  at  the  manner  in  which  they  are 
given.  Pamela's  face  and  movements  are  as  prim  and 
precise  as  ever,  but  there  is  a  nervous  Gutter  in  her 
gestures  and  a  peculiar  pleading  look  in  her  eyes  that 
somehow  make  him  think  she  is  frightened  of  him. 

This  unfortunately  is  the  case. 

For  Martineau,  driven  into  a  corner,  has  sent  for 
Mrs.  Joyce  this  afternoon  and  being  compelled,  has 
made  to  her,  under  Pamela's  oath  of  absolute  secrecy, 
certain  revelations  that  have  caused  that  lady  to  first 
think  she  must  be  crazy  and  then  wonder  if  she  is 
alive. 

To  these  he  has  added:  "  You  are  on  no  account  to 
permit  Mr.  Covington  to  take  Louise  to  the  Pelican 
ball  to-morrow  night." 

She  now  gazes  at  the  young  man's  smiling  face  as  if 
he  were  a  mixture  of  Basilisk  and  Blue  Beard,  and  as- 
tonishes him  by  faltering  again  :  "  Yes ;  you — you  will 
not  be  angry  with  Louise,"  adding,  faintly:  "Please 
don't — please  don't." 

"  Don't  do  what?"  asks  Bob. 

"N— n— nothing!" 

"Don't  do  nothing!  That's  bad  grammar,  Mrs. 
Joyce,"  laughs  the  young  man;  which  is  a  very  unkind 
observation  to  make  to  an  ex-schoolmistress. 

Then  he  goes  on:  "Is  anything  the  matter?  " — for 
the  appearance  of  the  lady  suggests  trouble.  "My 
heavens,  is  Louise  ill?  Why  doesn't  she  come  down? 
What  does  she  keep  me  waiting  for? " 

Remarks  that  tend  to  add  to  the  agitation  of  the 
chaperone,  who  says  meekly:  "No,  please  don't  be 
severe  with  her ;  she's  getting  dressed  as  quickly  as  she 
can.  She  is  going  to  amuse  you  by  appearing  in  the 
new  ball  dress — the  one  you  were  so  kind  as  to  get  for 
her.  At  first  I  opposed  it — I  didn't  think  it  was  quite 
the  proper  thing;  but  finally — I  deemed  it  was  best  that 
she  should  do  everything  in  her  power  to  make  you 
pleased  with  her,  and  I  said  I  would  come  down  and 
talk  to  you  so  that  you  would  not  be  impatient — or 
angry — or . " 

"Oh,  yes;  I'm  a  terrible  fellow!"  cries  Bob. 
"You  should  see  me  in  a  tantrum,  Mrs.  Joyce.     You 


106  BOB    COVINGTON 

ask  Mr.  Caesar,  my  man,  if  I'm  not  a  wild  Injun  when 
I've  got  the  harum  scarums !  " 

These  suggestions  do  not  appear  to  add  to  the  lady's 
serenity,  and  she  would  perhaps  make  some  astounding 
revelations  to  Covington  in  her  agitation,  did  not  at  this 
moment  a  vision  of  beauty  glide  in  to  him  that  knocks 
every  other  consideration  out  of   Mr.    Romeo's   head. 

With  a  muttered  ''Great  Pocahontas!"  Mr.  Bob 
stands  looking  at  Miss  Louise,  who  trips  up  to  him,  a 
little  blush  upon  her  face  and  the  excited  happiness 
of  a  girl  who  knows  that  she  looks —  her  very  best. 

"Behold  the  surprise,  Mr.  Covington  —  I  mean 
Cousin  Bob  —  Well  I  mean  Bob — you  —  you  told  me 
you  liked  that  best  —  "  murmurs  the  young  lady,  "but 
I  did  not  know  how  to  entertain  you  —  I  have  done  so 
little  for  you  and  you  so  much  for  me  about  getting 
Mr.  Martineau's  consent  for  this  dress,  that  I  thought 
I  would  let  you  have  the  first  look  at  it.  Besides," 
pouts  the  j^oung  lady,  "You  have  seen  all  my  other 
evening  gowns.  I  have  so  very  few  of  them  ;  but  I  hope 
in  a  few  days  to  be  better  off."  This  last,  quite  com- 
plaisantly. 

"By  George!"  thinks  Bob,  in  astounded  self-com- 
mune, "If  she  orders  a  few  more  of  these  clippers 
from  Madame  Olympe  there  won't  be  much  left  of  that 
five-thousand-dollar  check." 

But  all  the  same  he  is  very  happy!  For  his  sweet- 
heart—  at  this  moment  he  has  made  up  his  mind  he 
will  call  her  that,  and  that  no  other  man  on  earth 
shall — makes  about  as  pretty  a  picture  as  has  ever 
gladdened  the  eyes  of  lover. 

Before  this  night  he  had  thought  Louise  Tournay  as 
graceful  a  creature  as  any  in  the  world ;  but  now  art 
has  made  her  ethereal. 

The  toilette  de  bal  —  according  to.  the  custom  of  the 
epoch — is  plain  as  to  corsage,  which  simply  outlines 
a  figure  that  under  the  Southern  sun  is  no  longer  im- 
mature, but  nobly  though  exquisitely  developed.  From 
out  the  glistening  satin  of  the  bodice  gleam  shoulders, 
arms,  and  bosom  of  purest  snow;  each  graceful  contour 
made  warm  by  budding  life,  each  beauty  line  made 
brilliant  by  vivacious  youth ;  and  over  all  there  is  the 


BOB    COVINGTON  107 

blushing  face  and  laughing  eyes  of  her  he  loves.     For 
the  young  lady  is  very  happy  this  evening. 

Were  it  not  for  the  draperies  of  the  costume,  per- 
chance Louise  might  appear  too  much  like  breathing 
marble;  but  these,  in  many  falling  skirts  of  softest 
gauze,  each  of  some  delicate  but  differing  tint,  float 
from  the  zone  that  girdles  her  lithe  waist  over  the  sim- 
mering satin  of  her  robe,  and  as  she  moves  take  color- 
combinations  varying  with  each  pose — all  light,  all 
graceful,  and  all  charming. 

Besides,  these  skirts  have  a  wavy  motion  as  Miss 
Beauty  glides  before  him;  some  trick  of  modiste  Bob 
has  never  seen  before. 

"Ah!  You  like  it?  "  laughs  the  girl,  her  eyes  becom- 
ing very  happy.  Then  she  cries:  "  Do  you  know  I 
feel  light  as  the  breezes — Pamela,  play  me  a  polka!  and 
I'll  show  him  a  dancing  lesson  at  Miss  Martin's  estab- 
lishment for  young  ladies." 

"Would  you  like  it? "  asks  Mrs.  Joyce,  appealingly. 

Getting  word  from  Covington  that  he  would  like  it  very 
much,  she  goes  meekly  to  the  piano,  and  to  her  strains 
the  young  lady  cries:  "  Bon  jour  Mes  demoiselles  /  Atten- 
tion! Position/"  imitating  a  French  dancing-master. 
"  Mademoiselle  Tournay,  pray  keep  ze  head  erect!  Re- 
member your  foots  must  point  not  in — lVoild!  Un — deux 
— trois — Jete' !  Assemblez!  '  "  and  the  girl  gives  the  daz- 
zled Bob  a  most  coquettish  and  alluring  courtesy,  next 
ejaculates:  "Presto,  Mrs.  Joyce!  Don't  play  the  Dead 
March  fronrSaul ;  make  it  a  lively  polka,  a  la  Julie  n  !  " 
Then,  catching  the  rhythm  of  the  merry  air,  Louise 
dances  with  all  her  soul  before  Mr.  Covington's  fas 
cinated  eyes. 

But  as  Mr.  Bob  looks  on,  his  brows  slowly  contract! 

The  dress,  which  has  just  arrived  from  Paris,  con- 
tains the  latest  novelty — a  hint  of  the  coming  crinoline 
that  is  just  becoming  the  rage  of  woman,  the  scoff,  yet 
the  allurement  of  man.  This  dazzling  ball  gown,  being 
one  of  the  earliest  imported,  is  the  first  Mr.  Covington's 
eyes  have  ever  seen;  and  he  does  not  like  crinoline  ef- 
fects. 

The  graceful  wavy  movement  of  her  flying  skirts 
attracts     his     notice,    there     gleams    a    sight    very 


to8  BOB    COVINGTON 

pretty,  but  somewhat  disturbing  to  Mr.  Bob;  Louise's 
fairy  feet,  in  satin  slippers,  and  gracefully  moulded 
ankles,  dazzling  and  rounded,  in  tightest  silken 
web,  so  light  that  the  white  skin  gleams  beneath, 
appear  too  often  and  too  generously — not  for  his  own 
delight;  but  as  he  looks  he  thinks:  "This  will  be  for 
the  delectation  of  other  admirers  of  beauty  to-morrow 
evening." 

And  this  young  man  has  a  jealous  soul. 

"Don't  you  think  it's  very  beautiful?  Don't  you 
think  it's  very  becoming  ?  Don't  you  think  I'll  look 
very  well  in  my  toilette  de  bal?"  asks  the  young  lady, 
eager  for  his  praise. 

To  this  Mr.  Covington  answers:  "Yes;  you  are 
very  beautiful  in  it — too  beautiful;"  then  adds,  se- 
verely: "But  it  is  too  much  of  a  ballet  costume  for 
you  to  wear  to-morrow  evening." 

"  Not  wear  it  at  the  Pelican  ? "  cries  the  girl,  scarce 
believing  her  ears. 

"Certainly  not!  I  do  not  think  it  is  quite  the 
proper  thing  for  a  young  lady." 

"Not  the  proper  thing?  Goodness!  It  is  the  last 
conceit!  This  is  a  duplicate  of  one  the  Comtesse  de 
Soissons  wore  at  the  last  ball  at  the  Tuileries.  It 
created  a  sensation  !  " 

"  Too  much  of  one,  I  expect.  But  it  wont  create  a 
sensation  at  the  Pelican.  You'll — you'll  excuse  me — 
you  cannot  wear  it  there." 

"And  who  will  prevent  me?"  The  young  lady's 
tone  is  icy  and  haughty. 

Here  Mrs.  Joyce  suddenly  rises  from  the  piano  shud- 
dering: "Oh  don't — don't  contradict  him,  Louise! 
Don't!  He  might  be  angry  with  you." 

But  this  pours  anything  but  oil  upon  the  troubled 
waters.  "Angry  with  me?"  cries  the  girl,  her  eyes 
dazzling,  her  cheeks  red.  "  It  is  I  who  should  be  an- 
gry with  him.  Because — I  have  permitted  him  the 
intimacy  of  cousinship  and  because  he  has  been  very 
good  to  me — I'll  admit  that — and  obtained  this  dress 
for  me  through  his  influence  with  Monsieur  Martineau, 
and  because — I  suppose  he's  my  only  gentleman  rel- 
ative on  earth,  he  assumes  an  authority  I  will  not  per- 
mit." 


BOB    COVINGTON  109 

uIam  sure  your  trustee  would  agree  with  me  in  the 
matter,"  suggests  Covington,  glumly. 

"Yes;  Monsieur  Martineau  does  not  wish  her  to  go 
to  the  ball!  "  cries  Mrs.  Joyce. 

Then  the  storm  breaks  forth ! 

"Monsieur  Martineau  doesn't  wish  me  to  go  to  the 
ball !  "  sneers  the  young  lady,  her  piquant  nose  very 
high  in  the  air;  then  says  haughtily:  "Pish  for  Mon- 
sieur Martineau!  I  am  my  own  mistress  i  I  do  what 
I  like  !  You  hear  me — I  do  what  I  like!  I  go  to 
the  ball  in  this  dress  and  in  no  other,  Mr.  Covington — 
no  other!  " 

"  Under  these  circumstances — I  shall  not  take  you," 
mutters  the  young  man,  biting  his  moustache  grimly. 

"  You  won't  take  me  ?  "  Her  dainty  nose  is  higher 
in  the  air,  her  coral  lip  curls  in  disdain.  "I  believe 
there  are  other  gallants  in  New  Orleans.  Monsieur 
La  Farge — he  left  his  card  yesterday — I'm  sure  he 
would  accompany  Mrs,  Joyce  and  me.  Yes,  and  glad 
of  the  chance,  even  with  this  outre  ballet  ball-dress. 
Quick,  Mrs.  Joyce  !    A  note  to  Monsieur  La  Farge!" 

But  something  in  the  young  gentleman's  face  stops 
the  young  lady  here.  Mr.  Covington,  says:  "I  beg 
you  will  not  write  Monsieur  La  Farge.  It  would  not 
be  the  proper  etiquette  Of  Creole  society  for  a  gentle- 
man who  knows  you  so  slightly  to  accompany  you  to  a 
public  function,  notwithstanding  you  have  a  chaper- 
one." 

"And  how  will  you  stop  it,  Cousin  Bob?"  jeers 
Miss  Louise,  mockingly. 

Then  Mrs.  Joyce  gets  sight  of  Mr.  Blue  Beard  in  a 
tantrum,  and  it  makes  her  shudder. 

"  How  ?  "  says  the  young  man,  his  voice  very  low, 
and  very  deliberate.  "  How  ?  In.  case  La  Farge  does 
not  accede  to  my  view  of  the  proper  etiquette  of  the 
transaction,  I  shall  tell  him  that  though  he  is  my  very 
good  friend  I  will  prevent  his  taking  you  to  the  ball 
to-morrow  night,  by  meeting  him  on  the  dueling  ground 
of  New  Orleans  to-morrow  afternoon." 

"  You  would — risk — your  life  ?  "  gasps  Pamela. 

"To  keep  her  name  in  high  respect  ?  Yes!"  an- 
swers Bob,  and  he  points  to  Miss  Beauty,  who  is  gazing 
at  him  with  blazing,  brilliant  eyes. 


IIO  BOB    COVINGTON 

Then  the  nobility  of  the  girl  flashes  up!  "You 
would  do  this  for  me?  "  she  falters — and  is  very  much 
pleased  to  find  he  would. 

"  Do  it  ?  "  cries  the  Kentuckian,  brushing  the  curls 
back  from  his  broad  forehead.  '  Do  it?  I'd  do  it  like 
a  quarter  horse !  Is  not  your  good  repute  dearer  to  me 
than  my  own  honor  ?  " 

"You — you  must  be  right,"  shudders  Louise,  or  you 
would  not  look  so  awful  and  so  noble!  "  then  adds  im- 
pulsively: "  Forgive  me,  Cousin  Bob!  "  next  murmurs 
piteously,  "  The  Pelican  ball  is  a  thing  of  the  past 
for  me.  Pamela,  we  need  not  have  thought  so  much 
of  our  dresses  for  the  occasion."  And  the  girl  begins 
to  look  like  a  Peri  outside  the  gate  of  Paradise;  for 
this  fete  has  been  very  much  to  her,  like  the  opening 
of  the  portals  of  social  Heaven,  and  it  is  very  bitter  to  see 
them  close,  even  though  Archangel  Bob  seals  them  up. 

But,  noting  the  tears  of  despairing  loveliness  in  his 
sweetheart's  eyes,  Mr.  Covington  throws  out  the  white 
flag  and  mutters:  "  My  God!  You're  crying!  Forgive 
me !  Go  to  the  ball !  Go  to  fifty  balls-,  but — but  don't 
cry!" 

"I  can't.  I  have  got  no  dress!  "  is  the  despairing 
moan. 

"Go  to  the  ball!  Ransack  every  modiste  i.i  New 
Orleans!  Find  as  beautiful  a  gown  as  you  desire !  But 
don't  wear — this  thing  with  the  jigging  skirts." 

"But  Monsieur  Martineau  will  object  to  the  expense. 
He  scolded  me  last  time,"  murmurs  Louise,  archly, 
brushing  the  pearls  from  her  eyes  and  pouting  very 
prettily. 

"  It  will  be  my  affair  to  arrange  that  matter  for  you 
with  your  trustee.  If  he  says  no,  come  to  me  !  From 
now  on  I  will  look  after  your  finances,"  answers  Bob, 
thinking  of  the  claim  to  the  Tournay  estates. 

"Oh,  what  a  cousin  you  are!"  cries  Louise,  sud- 
denly. "You've  known  me  but  four  days,  and  now 
you  dominate  the  household  and  twist  me  around  your 
finger."  And  the  young  lady  droops  her  eyes,  turns 
away  her  head,  and,  sitting  at  the  piano,  plays  ab- 
stractedly, with  one  white  hand,  the  air  of  a  little 
Creole  love  song. 


BOB    COVINGTON  III 

"Dominate  the  household?  That's  a  thundering 
fine  idea!  "  remarks  Bob.  "Apropos  of  that,  Mrs. 
Joyce,  was  not  Miss  Louise  to  give  me  a  cup  of  tea 
this  evening?     Could  not  you  kindly  arrange  for  it? " 

"Yes,  sir,"  replies  that  lady,  meekly,  and  goes  away, 
shuddering:  "He  must  know!  Oh,  Heaven,  will  he 
tell  her  now 7" 

"No,  don't  run  after  her,"  whispers  Covington,  for 
Louise  has  started  up. 

"Wouldn't  you  like  me  to  dance  for  you  again?" 
says  the  girl  uneasily. 

"  Very  much;  but  not  now /" 

"Then  I'll  play  for  you." 

"  No  music,"  mutters  the  young  man.  "  Here!  Sit 
beside  me  on  the  sofa." 

"You  wish  me  to  sit — there V  falters  Louise. 

"Yes;  right  beside  me." 

"Oh,  what  a  tyrant  you  are!  There!  What  do  you 
want  next  ?"  but  this  ends  in  a  subdued  but  plaintive 
scream. 

"You!"  whispers  Bob,  coming  to  his  Romeo  act 
with  a  plunge,  and  gathering  in  all  this  beauty,  laces, 
and  gauzes,  straight  to  his  heart.  ' '  You !  Your  love  ! 
Your  hand  in  mine  through  life — your  heart  beating 
against  mine  through  life — you  to  call  me  husband;  I 
to  call  you  wife.     That's  what  I  want  of  YOU  !" 

"O — o— h!"  falters  the  girl,  fluttering  to  get  away. 

"No,  you  don't — never  out  of  my  arms — till  you 
have  spoken." 

"What  would — you  have  me — say  ?"  and  her  blush- 
ing face  is  hid  upon  his  stalwart  shoulder. 

"I  love  you,  Bob!" 

* '  I — love — you, "  comes  faintly  from  the  buried  head. 

"And  now,"  says  the  Kentuckian,  mad  with  rap- 
ture, "  I  have  never  kissed  you  as  a  cousin." 

"No;  you've  been  very  unkind  to  me,"  falters  the 
girl. 

"  By  the  Lord  Harry!  You  shall  never  accuse  me 
of  that  again !     Let  me  look  at  your  eyes." 

"  I  can't.     I'm  crying." 

"Crying?" 

"Yes;  but — but  happy  tears.      Cousin  Bob — no   I 


112  BOB    COVINGTON 

forgot  you  don't  like  that.  Oh  goodness!  Mon  Dieu! 
Bob — how — how  impetuous  you  are!" 

"  Now,  by  Heavens!  you'll  never  accuse  me  again, 
Miss,  of  not  kissing  you!"  whispers  the  enraptured 
Romeo,  looking  into  his  Juliet's  lovely  face. 

But  after  a  little  the  girl  starts  from  him  and  re- 
marks roguishly:  "  This  is  not  Creole  etiquette!  You 
should  bow  before  me  and  say:  '  Mademoiselle,  may  I 
have  the  honor  of  requesting  your  hand  from  Monsieur 
Martineau,  your  trustee?'" 

"No;  but  this  is  what  I  will  tell  Martineau,"  cries 
Bob,  striding  up  to  his  will-o'-the-wisp  and  gathering 
her  in  once  more.  "This  girl  I  love  doesn't  go  run- 
ning over  to  Paris,  without  me  by  her  side.  And  that 
will  take  place  after  we  have  clasped  hands  in  Christ 
Church  up  on  Canal  Street,  in  not  over  a  month  from 
now." 

"A  month?  So  soon?"  falters  his  fianctfe,  Mr.  Cov- 
ington's wooing  seeming  to  her  very  rapid  and  im- 
petuous; though  perchance  this  makes  him  all  the  more 
dear  to  her. 

"Of  course!  Short  engagements — long  marriages! 
Then  we  run  away  to  Paris,  after  your  sister.  You 
don't  object  to  Paris  on  general  principles?  No  girl 
does!" 

* \  No, "  whispers  his  sweetheart,  bashfully.  ' '  I  should 
love  Paris.  But  I  did  not  want  to  go  there  after — 
after " 

"After  what?" 

"  After  I  had  seen  you!  "  and  the  girl  puts  her  fair 
arms  round  his  neck  and  her  coral  lips  up  to  his,  trust- 
ingly, lovingly,  and  he  receives  what  he  afterward 
calls  "an  angel  kiss."  But  it  is  not — though  as  near  it 
as  earthly  mortals  get;  for  it  is  the  first  outpouring 
of  a  girl's  pure  heart. 

So  it  comes  to  pass  that  Mrs.  Joyce  returning,  finds 
the  two  seated  at  antipodal  ends  of  the  sofa  and  con- 
versing very  confusedly.  A  few  minutes  after,  Mr. 
Covington,  rising  to  take  his  leave,  says:  "  Don't  for- 
get a  new  ball  dress  for  to-morrow  evening!  "  and  so 
goes  away,  the  happiest  young  blood  in   New  Orleans. 

A  few  seconds   after,  the   young   lady,   turning  to 


BOB    COVINGTON  113 

her  chaperone,  laughs:  "What  is  the  matter  with  this 
toilette?  "  and  shakes  the  skirts  out,  inspecting  it  with 
critical  eyes. 

"Why,  don't  you  know?"  returns  the  ex-schoolmis- 
tress, blushing. 

"No.  I  have  been  wondering  what  Bob  meant — 
but  didn't  dare  to  ask  him." 

"Very  well;  just  fly  round  a  few  times  in  front  of 
that  mirror,  and  look  at  yourself." 

Which  Miss  Tournay  does,  and  gazing  upon  her  re- 
flected self  suddenly  cries:  "Oh,  heavens  and  earth! 
No  wonder!     I  had  no  idea!     I  was  like  a  ballet  girl." 

"Pretty  near  it,"  remarks  Mrs.  Joyce,  grimly. 

"Well,"  says  the  young  lady,  blushing  divinely. 
"I'm  glad  it  was  no  worse." 

"  No  worse ! —  how  do  you  mean?  " 

"Well,  I  mean  — Oh  well  — Oh,  Mrs.  Joyce,  I'm 
the  happiest  girl  on  earth !  " 

"Happiest  girl?" 

"Yes.  A  month  from  now  I  marry  my  cousin  Bob, 
in  Christ  Church.     Isn't  that  joy  enough  for  one  girl?  " 

And  she  runs  away,  leaving  the  matron  gazing  after 
her  with  frightened  face  and  muttering  with  very  pale 
lips:   "My  God!" 

An  exclamation  that  means  very  strong  emotion  with 
women  of  Mrs.  Joyce's  prim  propriety. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE    DUEL    BEHIND    THE    CEMETERY. 

From  this  interview  of  love  Bob  goes  away,  too 
happy  to  quarrel  with  any  one,  and  valuing  his  life 
very  much  more  than  he  did  an  hour  before.  Sweet 
kisses  are  on  his  lips,  and  he  wants  a  great  many  more 
of  them  before  he  dies.  The  world  looks  very  pleas- 
ant to  him  as  he  comes  in  at  the  open  portals  of  the 
Orleans  Club. 

Here  in  a  private  room  are  grouped  a  number  of  the 
best  known  men  about  town — Messrs.   Poindexter  and 


114  BOB    COVINGTON 

Zyminski,  of  turf  fame;  Baldwin,  of  Mississippi,  cele- 
brated for  his  anecdotes;  young  Soule,  La  Farge,  and 
Martigny,  of  Creole  blood;  also,  Colonel  Talliaferro  of 
his  own  State.  These,  with  half-a-dozen  others — 
kindred  spirits,  jovial  souls,  and  dashing  fellows — 
make  up  the  party  that  Mr.  Covington  has  the  pleasure 
of  entertaining  this  evening. 

A  moment  later  and  they  are  seated  at  one  of  San- 
tini's  exquisite  suppers,  magnificently  served  on  a  flower- 
bedecked  table  covered  with  handsome  china  and  cut- 
glass,  La  Farge,  to  whom  the  supper  is  practically 
given,  occupying  a  chair  on  one  side  of  Bob  and 
Talliaferro  one  on  the  other. 

"You've  heard  nothing  more  of  Delaborde?  "  whis- 
pers the  Kentuckian  to  the  Creole. 

"  Not  yet,"  answers  the  New  Orleans  exquisite, 
"but  I  doubtless  shall  soon.  At  present,  I  am  only 
thinking  of  your  hospitality." 

So  are  the  rest — for  oysters,  fish,  game,  and  wines 
of  rare  vintage,  together  with  much  sparkling  Moselle 
and  champagne,  engross  the  attention  of  the  bons 
vivants. 

It  is  nearly  twelve  o'clock.  The  conversation  is  be 
coming  hilarious.  Repartee,  badinage  and  good  stories 
float  about,  mingled  now  with  the  fumes  of  the  finest 
Havanas,  luxuries  much  more  common  at  that  day  in 
the  United  States  than  at  present  under  our  new  reve- 
nue laws. 

Baldwin  has  just  told  his  great  anecdote  of  the 
Knoxville  exquisite,  who  visited  New  Orleans  and  ate 
pineapple  out  of  his  finger-bowl  in  the  dining-room  of 
the  St.  Charles  Hotel,  to  such  guffaws  of  waiters  and 
merriment  of  guests  as  made  him  fly  the  town.  And  a 
young  doctor  has  related  the  well-known  story  of 
"Cupping  on  the  Sternum." 

The  laughter  at  this  has  hardly  finished  when  a  card 
is  brought  to  La  Farge. 

"  Very  well,"  replies  the  young  Louisianian.  "  Tell 
him  I  will  be  down  to  see  him  in  a  minute,"  and  he 
holds  the  card  for  Covington  to  see. 

But  catching  sight  of  the  name  before  the  servant 
has  left  the  room,  Talliaferro  cries:  "Hi,  boy!  Stop!" 


BOB    COVINGTON  115 

and  turning  to  La  Farge,  whispers:  "Permit  me  to 
suggest  that  you  do  not  go  down  unaccompanied;  or 
better  still,  see  him  here." 

"I  think  you're  right,"  answers  the  Creole,  and  calls 
to  the  waiter:  "Tell  Monsieur  Delaborde  I  will  see 
him  in  this  room." 

Then,  the  servitor  having  gone  on  his  errand,  the 
Colonel  whispers:  "Mr.  Covington  delivered  my  ad- 
vice to  you  ?  You  will  pardon  the  liberty  I,  who  am 
a  man  of  more  experience  than  you,  took  in  sending 
it.  But,  if  what  my  friend  Bob  says  is  true,  for  your 
own  protection,  my  dear  young  man,  follow  my  ad- 
vice. Be  sure  and  force  this  fire-eater  to  challenge 
you  I  Don't  throw  away  a  chance!  "  To  this  he  adds 
some  deft  advice,  catching  which  Mr.  Covington  bursts 
out  laughing. 

A  moment  later  Jules  Delaborde,  rigged  up  in  the 
extreme  of  fashion,  enters  the  apartment  and 
closes  the  door.  If  there  had  been  any  doubt  as 
to  the  fire-eater's  hostility  of  intention  his  countenance 
destroys  it,  for  he  has  a  very  nasty  scowl  upon  his 
face  as  he  gazes  across  the  table  at  the  young  Creole. 

"I  have  called  to  see  you,  Monsieur  La  Farge," 
says  the  man,  "  to  demand  of  you  here,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  your  friends,  how  you  have  dared  to  erase  my 
name  from  the  invitation  list  of  the  Pelican  Club." 

His  manner  and  voice  have  such  omen  in  them  that 
the  rest  of  the  party,  who  have  paid  very  little  attention 
to  the  card  incident,  being  laughing  and  talking  among 
themselves,  swing  round  in  their  chairs  and  gaze  at  him 
astonished. 

"Dared!"  remarks  La  Farge,  and  Covington  notes 
the  young  man's  tone  though  very  low  and  quiet  is 
very  steady — "  to  erase  your  name  from  the  invitation 
list  of  the  Pelican  Club?  I  can  answer  that  very 
quickly.  Your  name,  Monsieur  Delaborde,  never  was 
on  the  invitation  list  of  the  Pelican  Club.  The  Pelican 
Club  doesn't  invite  niggers!''' 

There  is  a  shout  of  amazement,  almost  ho'rror,  at 
this,  the  most  atrocious  insult  that  m  those  days  and 
that  city,  could  be  put  upon  a  man.  Then  there  is  a 
little  laugh,  as  unfortunately  the  dark,  crisp  hair  and 


Il6  BOB    COVINGTON 

black  waxed  bristling  moustache  of  the  French  fire- 
eater  as  he  scowls  about,  give  some  color  to  the 
Creole's  assertion. 

"Nigger?"  shrieks  Delaborde.  "  Sacre  /  you  call 
me  *  nigger?  ' "  And  he  would  advance  upon  the 
Louisianian. 

"But  Talliaferro  cries:  "Throw  the  fellow  out!" 
and  probably  not  caring  to  have  their  conviviality  dis- 
turbed, and  at  all  events  acting  upon  his  commands, 
the  rest  of  the  party  spring  up,  seize  and  expel  the  bel- 
licose and  frantic  Delaborde  from  the  apartment. 

But  as  he  disappears  he  grinds  out  between  his  white 
teeth :  * '  Nom  de  Dieu  !  For  this,  Henri  La  Farge,  I 
must  have  your  heart's  blood !  " 

"By  the  Lord  Harry!"  remarks  Talliaferro  com- 
plaisantly,  "  now  he'll  have  to  challenge  you.  If  he 
doesn't,  Monsieur  Fire-eater  can  never  enter  a  club- 
room  or  parlor  in  New  Orleans  again." 

As  for  the  rest,  they  sit  down  to  their  wine  and 
cigars  once  more,  though  Soule  whispers  to  the  gentle- 
man next  him:  "I  don't  think  La  Farge  can  avoid 
meeting  the  fellow,  however;  there's  no  proof  of  what 
Henri  said." 

This  also  seems  to  be  the  Creole's  idea  of  the  matter, 
for  a  very  few  minutes  after,  when  a  card  is  brought 
up  bearing  the  name  of  Monsieur  Albert  Montant, 
representing  Monsieur  Jules  Delaborde,  La  Farge  steps 
out  to  meet  the  gentleman  and  refers  him  to  Mr.  Cov- 
ington, who  will  act  for  him  in  the  matter. 

There  is  no  talk  of  compromise  between  the  seconds ; 
the  insult  has  been  so  flagrant.  Mr.  Covington  accepts 
the  challenge  on  behalf  of  his  principal,  and,  actingupon 
Talliaferro's  advice,  immediately  names  sabres  as  the 
weapons;  time,  six  o'clock  the  coming  morning; 
ground,  just  beyond  the  old  St.  Louis  Cemetery. 

"Sabres?"  mutters  the  fire-eater's  second.  They 
are  curious  weapons." 

"But  within  the  strict  letter  of  the  Code,"  replies 
the  Kentuckian;  "and,  representing  the  challenged 
party,  absolutely  in  our  discretion." 

■  'Very  well, "  returns  the  representative  of  Delaborde. 
"Though  had  we  not  better  say  colichemardes  or 
pistols?  " 


BOB    COVINGTON  117 

"Neither!"  answers  Bob.  "Sabres!"  And  this 
matter  being  arranged,  he  returns  to  the  supper- 
room,  where  he,  Talliaferro  and  La  Farge  go  into  con- 
sultation about  the  matter.  It  is  during  this  time  that 
Mr.  Jarvis's  card  being  brought  up  to  him,  the  at- 
torney receives  the  intimation  that  Covington  is  too 
busy  to  see  him,  even  on  business. 

Likewise  also  when  they  come  down  to  drive  to 
Colonel  Talliaferro's  house  to  get  the  weapons  and  make 
further  preparation,  though  intercepted  in  the  hallway 
by  Jarvis,  Bob  gives  him  the  answer  that  drives  Kitson 
to  such  anxiety  as  to  his  client's  safety. 

For  Covington  does  not  think  of  property  now;  he  is 
thinking  of  saving  his  friend's  life,  which  Talliaferro 
and  he  both  conclude  will  not  be  a  very  easy  matter,  as 
they  soon  discover  that  La  Farge  knows  nothing  about 
any  weapon  whatsoever. 

"How  any  man  could  have  lived  in  the  South,  and 
be  as  ignorant  as  you,  is  more  than  I  can  understand," 
growls  the  colonel,  shaking  his  head.  "A  man  that 
walks  on  gunpowder  down  here,  as  you  Creoles  do, 
ought  at  least  to  be  able  to  fire  it  off." 

Finally,  he  says:  "  I  think  here's  your  only  chance. 
Fight  him  as  Skerritt  *  did  the  fencing  master  in  Texas ; 
that's  the  reason  I  chose  sabres!  "  And  he  tells  him 
about  the  duel  that  had  made  that  young  Englishman 
famous  in  the  Southwest,  when  he  had  met  a  French 
maitre  cT amies  and  cut  him  down  in  twenty  seconds. 
"You  know  nothing  about  weapons:  that's  your  ad- 
vantage, perhaps.  Assume  the  upper  guard — so ! "  the 
colonel  explains:  "Yes;  doit  in  that  awkward  way. 
He'll  see  you  don't  know  anything  about  the  weapon  ; 
and  think  he  has  an  easy  thing  of  it ;  he'll  make  the  right 
cut,  which  is  utterly  unprotected  by  your  guard.  Then 
just  jump  aside  one  foot — you're  light  on  your  feet —  , 


*This  duel,  fought  by  a  young  Englishman  in  Texas,  with  a 
French  maitre  d'armes,  was  a  matter  of  notoriety  at  that  time. 
This  gentleman,  having  planted  his  opponent  in  the  soil  of  the 
Lone  Star  State,  lived  afterward  in  San  Francisco,  and  became 
so  famous  on  account  of  this  singular  and  sanguinary  affair, 
that  he  was  offered  the  position  of  second  in  command  of  the 
Walker  filibustering  expedition  to  Nicaragua. — Ed. 


Il8  BOB    COVINGTON 

with  your  left  hand  grab  his  weapon! — run  it  under 
your  arm — and  give  him  your  point  straight  in  the 
stomach! — perform  the  hari-kari  on  him — don't  trouble 
yourself  about  his  heart  or  his  lungs,  just  rip  him  up! 
No — darn  it! — Don't  rehearse!  You'll  get  to  doing  it 
too  well,"  continues  Talliaferro,  "and  he'll  perhaps 
guess  your  little  game.  Then,  mark  me  ! — you'll  have 
no  more  chance  with  this  instructor  of  French  cavalry 
than  a  'possum  with  a  nigger.  Take  a  cup  of  coffee 
and  a  glass  of  cognac.  I  should  not  advise  the  liquor 
if  you  were  to  use  pistols;  but  activity  is  more  im- 
portant than  accuracy  in  what  is  ahead  of  you  this 
morning,  young  man.  Now,  good-bye,  boys,  and  God 
bless  you!" 

Then  he  whispers  in  Covington's  ear:  "Take  a 
couple  of  revolvers.  Don't  forget  that,  in  case  of  any 
trouble  with  the  second,  because  this  is  a  rather  outrt 
performance  on  the  field  of  honor,  though  perfectly 
correct.  You  know  I  would  not  counsel  anything  else. 
Do  the  best  you  can  for  La  Farge;  remember  he  has  a 
mother  who  loves  him." 

"I'd  do  that,  without,"  replies  the  Kentuckian,  and 
turns  to  follow  his  friend  who  is  already  in  the  carriage. 

But  Talliaferro  motions  him  to  stay,  and  adds:  "If 
La  Farge  does  his  work  right  his  opponent  is  sure  to 
die;  so  both  of  you  had  better  get  out  of  New  Orleans 
for  a  few  weeks." 

"But  the  Louisiana  Legislature  repealed  the  law 
against  dueling,"  mutters  Covington,  "three  years 
ago." 

"But  they  have  not  repealed  the  law  against  homi- 
cide.    A  wounded  opponent  would  be  a  matter  of  little 

moment;  but  a  slain  one Well,  even  that  will  blow 

over  in  a  few  weeks.  Still,  in  case  of  Delaborde's 
death,  both  you  young  men  had  better  leave  town  for 
a  few  days." 

"What!  and  miss  the  Pelican  ball?" 

"Shucks!  you  would  not  dance  at  it.  You  might  do 
a, pas  seul  on  the  floor  of  the  jail  over  there;  though, 
probably  they  would  bail  you  out.  Still,  you'd  better 
be  away." 

"I  presume  you're  right,"  says  the  Kentuckian  very 


BOB    COVINGTON  119 

glumly;  absence  from  the  young  lady  on  Dauphine 
Street  not  seeming  pleasant  to  him  at  this  moment. 

The  sun  is  just  rising  on  New  Orleansas  La  Fargeand 
his  second,  accompanied  by  a  surgeon,  arrive  at  the 
old  dueling  ground  behind  the  St.  Louis  Cemetery, 
the  place  on  which  Creole  youth  have  been  accustomed 
to  report  themselves  about  this  hour  in  the  morning 
with  their  colichemardes  or  small  swords  and  spit  each 
other  for  the  many  insults  that  chanced  to  pass  in 
that  fiery  society,  when  treading  on  a  gentleman's  corns 
sometimes  produced  serious  results. 

Here  they  are  promptly  met  by  Messieurs  Delaborde 
and  Montant,  accompanied  also  by  another  gentleman 
who  carries  a  case  of  surgical  instruments. 

Both  parties  being  apparently  anxious  to  get  to 
work,  the  affair  is  settled  in  a  short  five  minutes. 

The  weapons  are  measured,  positions  given,  Coving- 
ton looking  out  that  his  man  does  not  get  more  than 
half  the  sun;  in  fact  taking  note  of  the  direction  of 
that  luminary,  he  succeeds  in  giving  Delaborde  a  little 
the  most  of  it  in  his  eyes  and  furthermore  whispers  to 
La  Farge  to  edge  still  farther  to  the  left  and  give  his 
opponent  a  little  more  of  the  sun's  rays. 

"Of  course  you  can't  do  it  for  more  than  a  few 
seconds,"  he  says,  "after  that,  this  master  of  fence 
will  move  you  about  the  field  at  his  pleasure.  Remem- 
ber, you  must  settle  it  at  once  or  it  goes  against  you!" 
and  he  wrings  La  Farge's  hand. 

•'  I  understand,"  mutters  the  young  man,  and  Cov- 
ington is  delighted  to  notice  that  his  principal  is  very 
alert,  yet  as  cool  and  collected  this  morning  as  he  was 
at  the  supper  table  of  the  evening  before. 

"  I  think  he'll  perhaps  do  the  trick,"  cogitates  Cov- 
ington, grimly.  "La  Farge  comes  of  a  fighting  race, 
even  if  he  does  not  know  how  to  fight." 

A  moment  later,  the  men  are  in  position.  As  the 
Creole  puts  up  his  guard,  Bob  sees  his  opponent  sneer 
and  a  little  hope  comes  to  him  that  Delaborde  will 
think  it  a  ve  *y  easy  matter. 

This  he  apparently  does,  for  this  is  what  Covington 
sees: 

Two  quick,  sharp  feints,  and  then  the  expert's  sabre 


126  BOB    COVINGTON 

flashes  in  the  air  to  cut  the  light-limbed  Creole  down. 
But,  even  as  the  blow  descends  upon  him,  he  sees  La 
Farge  make  a  quick  move  to  the,  right,  dodge  the  cut, 
grab  the  naked  blade  in  his  left  hand  and  guide  it  under 
his  arm ;  then  giving  point  with  his  own  weapon,  spring 
straight  at  the  expert's  abdomen.  Then  Laborde  is  ly- 
ing on  the  ground,  gasping  faintly :  "  Assassine  !  He 
held  my  blade!  " 

"It  was  not  fair!  "cries  his  second,  coming  up 
menacingly  toward  La  Farge. 

"  Perfectly  fair!  "  says  Covington,  stepping  in  front 
of  his  principal.  "  The  practice  has  been  recognized 
by  the  Code  for  a  hundred  years,  ever  since  men  who 
could  not  fence  have  been  challenged  by  men  who 
could.  Declare  this  en  regie,  Monsieur  Montant,  or 
step  off  ten  paces  with  me!  I  have  here  two  revol- 
vers. I  won't  take  my  man  from  the  field  branded  as 
you  would  brand  him!  Announce  you  are  satisfied,  or 
take  your  distance !  "  The  Kentuckian  produces  two 
murderous  looking  weapons. 

To  this,  Montant,  after  a  moment's  consideration, 
replies:  "I  spoke  in  the  heat  of  the  moment.  Upon 
consideration,  I  remember  the  affairs  of  O'Brien  and 
Skerritt.     I  believe  you  are  right,  sir.     I  am  satisfied." 

Meantime,  the  two  surgeons  have  been  at  work  on 
the  combatants;  one  bending  over  Delaborde,  who 
lies  upon  the  ground  with  no  chance  of  recovery;  the 
other  binding  up  La  Farge's  left  hand,  some  of  the 
fingers  of  which  have  been  cut  to  the  bone,  also  a 
slight  wound  in  the  extreme  point  of  his  left  shoulder, 
for  he  had  not  been  quick  enough  to  save  himself 
entirely  from  the  fencing  master's  cut. 

A  moment  after,  Covington  is  assisting  Henri  to 
the  carriage,  for  his  friend  has  lost  considerable  blood. 
Suddenly  the  young  Creole  remarks: 

"  We're  dogged  !     Who  is  this  intercepting  us?" 

And  Covington  bursts  out  laughing:  "By  Jove! 
It's  my  attorney!" 

For  Mr.  Kitson  Jarvis,  unable  to  restrain  his  anxie- 
ties, has  followed  his  precious  client  in  a  cab  and 
hovered  around  and  kept  watch  over  him  all  this  night, 
at   Talliaferro's  and,   afterward    pursuing  him   to  the 


BOB    COVINGTON  12  1 

field  of  honor,  has  chuckled  delightedly  when  he  finds 
his  man  was  not  a  principal  in  the  affair 

Jarvis  now  says:  "I  must  see  you,  Mr.  Covington!" 

"  Impossible!  We'll  have  to  get  out  of  town!  That 
man  is  dying  over  there!" 

"  Well,  homicide  ain't  much  in  this  place.  You'll  be 
all  right  in  a  few  weeks.     I  know  the  sentiment  here." 

"Yes;  but  I  leave  on  the  first  boat  for  Louisville," 
replies  Covington.      "  Now  I  must  get  my  man  away." 

"  What  boat  are  you  going  on?" 

"  The  first  one  that  sails." 

"That's  the  Eclipse  !  She  starts  at  nine  this  morn- 
ing," says  Jarvis.      "  I  know  all  about  the  river." 

"  Very  well.  If  you  want  to  talk  to  me,  meet  me  at 
the  boat.  At  present  I  must  get  my  friend  home;" 
and  putting  La  Farge  into  his  carriage,  the  duelists 
drive  away. 

So  it  comes  to  pass  that  Monsieur  Martineau  receives 
a  shock  this  morning,  for  he  has  scarcely  dressed  be- 
fore the  Kentuckian  is  shown  into  his  breakfast-room. 

"I've  got  to  leave  town,"  remarks  Covington, 
hurriedly.  There  was  a  duel  about  the  invitations  to 
the  Pelican  Ball." 

"  Mon  Dieu!  As  I  feared!"  mutters  the  avocat 
with  a   frightened  face. 

"What!  Did  you  know  of  Delaborde,  the  fire- 
eater's,   intention   to  insult  La  Farge  ?  " 

"La  Farge?" 

"  Yes,  it  wasn't  I  who  killed  the  man." 

"Oh,  it  was  Monsieur  La  Farge, "  mutters  the  lawyer. 
"  I  had  feared Then  why  do  you  have  to  go  ?  " 

"  I  was  the  second,  and  La  Farge  killed  his  man." 

"  Ah !  Then  you  had  better  leave  for  a  few  weeks !  " 
And  Martineau's  tone  becomes  easy.  A  moment  after, 
his  eye  brightens.  In  the  Kentuckian's  absence  he 
sees  at  least  a  respite  from  the  fearful  embarrassments 
that  have  been  upon  him.  Covington  away,  Made- 
moiselle Louise  can  hardly  go  to  the  Pelican  ball. 
Besides,  this  young  man,  on  his  travels,  may  be  useful 
in  another  manner. 

The  avocat  becomes  now  quick,  brisk,  and  alert. 
He  says:  "You  are  going  to  Louisville  ?     You  can  do 


122  BOB    COVINGTON 

me,  and  also  Miss  Louise,  a  great  service.  Continue  your 
journey  as  far  as  New  York.  That  will  not  be  difficult. 
A  fast  steamboat  up  the  Ohio  to  Wheeling  or  Pitts- 
burgh, a  short  stage  over  the  mountains,  and  then  you 
have  the  railway." 

"And  in  New  York,  what  then  ? " 

"  Here  is  a  check  for  two  thousand  dollars,"  remarks 
the  attorney,  filling  one  out.  Handing  it  to  the  Ken- 
tuckian,  he  continues:  "With  this  money  pay  all 
necessary  expenses  of  Mademoiselle  Nita  at  Miss 
Martin's  boarding-school ;  then  obtain  passage  for  her 
for  Paris,  where  the  child  will  be  placed  in  the  Convent 
de  Dames  du  Sacre  Cozur. " 

"But  Miss  Martin  may  not  recognize  a  cousin's 
authority. " 

"  My  messenger  will  meet  you  at  the  boat  with  the 
necessary  credentials  to  Miss  Martin,  also  a  letter  to 
my  agent  in  Paris,  who  will  make  all  arrangements 
about  the  young  lady.  The  schoolmistress  will  ob- 
tain a  lady  to  take  Nita  to  Paris;  the  child  is  too 
young  to  travel  alone.  Now  you  will  not  have  more 
than  time  to  get  ready  and  take  the  boat." 

"By  George!  you're  right!  "  ejaculates  the  Kentuck- 
ian,  who,  looking  at  his  watch  discovers  that  it  is  now 
a  quarter  past  eight,  and  he  has  another  and  much 
more  important  adieu  to  make.  But  this  puts  another 
matter  into  his  head,  and  he  says,  even  as  he  leaves 
the  apartment:  "  Yes;  it  will  be  best  for  Miss  Nita  to 
go  to  Paris  direct,  especially  as  Louise  will  remain 
here.     But  good-bye — I  have  no  time  to  lose." 

And  though  the  lawyer  would  call  him  back  for 
further  explanation,  the  young  man  hurries  away,  re- 
marking to  himself:  "  Holy  Poker!  I  forgot  to  tell  him 
the  news.  But  Louise  can  tell  Martineau  her  own 
story,  if  she  is  not  too  bashful  Any  way,  I  have  no 
time  for  explanation." 

For  Mr.  Covington  is  now  in  a  great  hurry.  Jump- 
ing into  the  cab  that  has  been  waiting  for  him,  he 
drives  along  Dauphine  >  :treet  at  a  tearing  pace. 

At  the  Tournay  house  he  fortunately  finds  his  sweet- 
heart ready  to  see  him,  but  greatly  agitated,  Mr.  Caesar 
having  preceded  his  master  with  a  note ;  that  sable  and 


BOB    COVINGTON  1 23 

voluble     valet's   inaccurate   explanations  of   the  duel 
having  created  consternation  in  Louise's  mind. 

Even  as  he  enters  her  salon  the  young  lady,  hastily 
arrayed  in  pretty  morning  robe,  comes  hurriedly  to 
meet  him.  From  out  its  floating  sleeves  two  white 
and  tender  arms  fly  round  his  neck ;  two  teary  eyes 
look  into  his;  two  trembling  lips  whisper:  " Dieu 
merci 7  You  have  escaped  alive!  But  still  you  have  to 
fly.  You  killed — your  friend — La  Farge  in  mortal  com- 
bat ? " 

To  this  Bob  listens,  astounded,  then  cries:  "Who 
told  you  that? " 

"Your  man  Caesar.  He  said  you  had  stabbed  La 
Farge  to  death  with  a  sword  and  were  now  flying  the 
country.  He  knew  it,  because  when  you  came  in  and 
told  him  to  pack  for  his  life,  you  had  blood  upon  your 
shirt." 

"  Yes.  From  assisting  in  binding  LaFarge's  hand — 
that's  where  the  blood  came  from."  Then  Covington 
bursts  out,  angrily:  "  That  nigger-brain!  To  frighten 
you  with  such  a  yarn!"  next  adds  gloomily:  "It's 
bad  enough  as  it  is.  I  was  La  Farge's  second  in  a 
meeting  he  had  with  the  fire-eater,  Delaborde.  La 
Farge  killed  his  man,  and  our  friends  think  it  best,  as 
the  duel  had  a  fatal  ending,  that  we  both  leave  New 
Orleans  for  a  little  time." 

"How  long?"  whispers  his  sweetheart,  faintly. 

"Well — perhaps  a  month — until  the  matter  has 
slipped  over.  It  doesn't  amount  to  a  great  deal,  br' 
I'm  afraid  we'll  have  to  miss  the  Pelican  ball." 

"The  Pelican  ball?"  You — you  will  be  away  from 
me,"  and  the  girl  is  round  his  neck  once  more. 

"  Well,  I  would  have  had  to  leave  in  a  few  days,  any 
way.  You  see,  I've  certain  arrangements  to  make  up 
in  Kentucky — matters  to  settle,  "so  I  can  stay  here  un- 
til after  our  wedding " 

"Oh!  Bob!" 

"Yes!  Arrange  my  house  so  that  I  can  bring  a 
bride  to  it!  Besides,  I've  a  little  errand  for  Martineau 
in  New  York ;  he  thinks  it  well  your  sister  should  go 
to  Paris  at  once.  I  agree  with  him.  There's  no  need 
of  her  waiting  to  accompany  us;  three  would  be  too  big 


124  BOB    COVINGTON 

a  honeymoon  crowd.  We'll  run  over  to  Paris  and  see 
Nita,  together!" 

"  Delightful!" 

"And  do  the  French  capital!  Oh,  this  wedding-trip 
of  ours,  Louise,  is  going  to  be  a  very  dandy  affair!" 

"What  do  I  care  where  we  go — what  we  do — so  long 
as — as " 

"As  what — sweetheart?" 

"As  we  are  together!  " 

"Great  Cupid!  I  must  kiss  you  for  that!  "  whispers 
Covington. 

"Of  course!  I  thought  you  would,  my  Bob,"  says 
Miss  Louise,  looking  archly  through  her  tears;  and 
finally  getting  her  lips  to  herself  once  more,  goes  to 
making  "my  Bob  "  very  happy,  giving  him  some  bash- 
fully entrancing  evidences  of  the  love  that  is  in  her 
fair  young  soul  as  she  murmurs  trustingly,  innocently: 
"  I  prayed  last  night  to  God  that  I  might  make  you  as 
happy  as — as  you  have  made  me." 

"Prayed! — when  I  was  scheming  to  kill!  My 
heaven!     I'm  not  worthy  of  you!     But " 

"Oh  my  Heaven!  you're — you're  going  away  !  "  and 
the  girl,  giving  him  a  despairing  glance  that  sets  him 
on  fire,  the  two  go  into  a  combination  rapture  of  joy 
and  sorrow — of  joy,  for  they  love;  of  sorrow,  for  they 
must  part.  Then  Louise  cries,  faintly  and  suddenly : 
"Not  yet!     Don't  leave  me  yet!  " 

"I  must!  I  shall  miss  the  boat.  Remember  it's 
only  for  a  few  weeks;  and  then — Christ  Church — 
the  minister — rice  and  old  slippers,  and  away  we  go 
together !  Don't  forget  my  New  York  address,  St. 
Nicholas  Hotel.  And  now  your  dear  little  third  finger, 
left  hand!" 

"My  mercy! — What  are  you  aoing  ? — Kissing  my 
fingers  so!  " 

"Putting  on  the  engagement  ring,  of  course." 

"Oh,  Bob! — Good  Heavens,  you — are — going!" 

"Yes." 

So  with  a  long,  last,  good-bye  kiss  he  runs  down  into 
the  courtyard  and  jumps  into  his  cab ;  and,  looking  back 
as  he  drives  away,  sees  fluttering  from  the  balcony  a 
little  handkerchief  of  lace. 


BOB    COVINGTON  1 25 

A  moment  after,  this  is  wet  with  tears — happy  ones! 
Looking  at  the  sparkling  thing  on  her  finger,  the  girl 
kisses  it  very  tenderly,  and  murmurs:  "  My  Bob!" 
then  bursts  into  the  dining-room,  where  Mrs.  Joyce, 
who  apparently  has  not  cared  to  meet  Mr.  Covington 
this  morning,  is  seated  over  her  breakfast.  Flashing 
the  bauble  under  the  ex- schoolmistress's  eyes,  Louise 
cries:  "  Engagement  ring!  And  now  trousseau  ! — trous- 
seau! "  for  the  joy  of  shopping,  as  well  as  the  joy  of 
love,  is  in  her  soul. 

At  these  words  of  happy  girlhood  Pamela  springs  up, 
and,  gazing  with  affrighted  eyes  upon  Bob's  souvenir, 
falters:  "It — it  is  very  pretty;"  then  goes  away  by 
herself,  and  commences  to  tremble  and  cry — this  stern 
old  Yankee  schoolmistress. 

Arriving  at  the  levee  Bob  boards  his  steamer, 
that  is  puffing  black  smoke  from  her  two  big  funnels, 
to  find  he  has  scarce  five  minutes  before  the  gangplank 
will  be  pulled  in,  but, has  plenty  of  business  awaiting 
him.  One  of  Monsieur  Martineau's  clerks  comes  hur- 
riedly on  board  after  him,  and  gives  him  two  letters  of 
introduction  for  himself;  one  of  them  to  Miss  Martin, 
the  New  York  schoolmistress;  another  to  Miss  Nita, 
his  cousin;  also  one  to  be  given  to  that  young  lady 
herself  to  present  to  Monsieur  Commenfaut,  35  Rue 
Lafitte,  Martineau's  correspondent  in  Paris. 

The  clerk  has  hardly  presented  these  and  gone 
away  before  Kitson  Jarvis  comes  down,  bringing  with 
him  the  extraordinary  creature  that  Covington  had 
tipped  upon  the  races;  the  one  who  had  handed  him 
his  card  at  the  field  of  Chalmette.  The  attorney,  who 
is  out  of  breath,  remarks:  "I  picked  up  this  notary 
and  brought  him  with  me.  I  want  you  to  sign  some 
documents  before  you  leave;  they  are  of  vital  import- 
ance." 

"  Let  me  read  them  first,"  says  the  Kentuckian. 

"You  have  hardly  time." 

"  Well,  I  read  first,  any  way!  " 

Looking  over  them,  Covington  discovers  that  they 
are  both  very  brief.  One  is  an  agreement  to  pay 
Mr.  Kitson  Jarvis  ten  per  cent,  of  any  properties  he 
may  recover  for  him  that  may  come  to  him  through 


126  BOB    COVINGTON 

his  mother,  Isabel  Laurey  Covington,  ne'e  Isabel  Laurey 
Tournay. 

"That's  a  reasonable  price,  seeing,  without  me  you 
would  never  have  known  anything  about  the  property," 
remarks  Jarvis,  eagerly. 

"Yes;  I  think  under  the  circumstances  it  is.  It's 
only  ten  per  cent,  of  what  you  get,"  returns  Bob,  who 
is  generally  pretty  easy  and  liberal  in  money  matters. 
"  You  are  to  bear  all  expenses  of  the  suit,  I  see." 

"  Yes;  that  will  be  easy.  They  won't  come  high," 
adds  Kitson. 

"And  this  other,"  continues  Covington,  "  is  a 
power  of  attorney  from  me  to  you,  to  bring  all  neces- 
sary action  in  the  matter  in  the  courts  of  this  State  or 
the  United  States  to  enforce  my  claims,  and  also  gives 
you  power  of  attorney  during  my  absence  to  hold  any 
money  you  may  recover  for  me,  subject  to  my  order, 
in  the  Bank  of  Louisiana,  where  said  funds  are  to  be 
deposited." 

"Yes;  subject  to  your  own  personal  check — not  to 
mine,"  says  the  lawyer.  "You  see  I  can't  get  away 
with  any  of  it.  I  have  protected  you  in  the  matter 
thoroughly." 

"Also,"  reads  Mr.  Covington,  "to  hold  for  me,  sub- 
ject to  my  order,  any  property,  real  or  otherwise,  you 
may  recover.  That's  all  right,  I  guess!"  Then  he 
asks:     "  What  is  this  property  ?  " 

"Couldn't  tell  that,  till  you've  signed  these  papers. 
I  had  too  much  trouble  nosing  out  the  goods  to  let 
another  counsel  in  to  take  half  my  commission.  Tell 
you  when  you've  signed." 

"All  right,"  answers  Covington,  after  a  second's 
hasty  thought   for  the  time  is  very  short  now. 

They  withdraw  to  the  cabin,  where  the  Kentuckian 
places  his  signature  to  both  documents. 

"These  will  require  a  notary's  acknowledgment," 
remarks  Kitson.  "Just  put  your  seal  on  it,  old  man," 
he  says  to  the  weazened  individual  at  his  side. 

"That's  the  allfiredest  curious  notary  you've  got. 
That's  my  race-course  tipster,"  laughs  Bob. 

"Well,  he's  all  right.  I  picked  him  up  in  a  dickens 
of  a  hurry,  on  Front  Street,  on  my  way  down." 


BOB    COVINGTON  127 

"Monsieur,  I  am  perfectly  en  regie,  perfectly  legal. 
My  attestation  and  stamp  are  as  good  as  anybody's," 
asserts  the  dried-up  old  man,  and  puts  his  signature 
and  seal  upon  the  two  papers. 

"Now,  where  can  I  communicate  with  you,  Mr. 
Covington  ?  "  asks  the  lawyer. 

"St.  Nicholas  Hotel,  New  York." 

But  here  the  notary  interjects  suddenly,  "Please, 
your — your  last  information  about  the  horse-race, 
Monsieur  Covington  ?  The  Alabamians  and  Louisian- 
ians  and  the  people  down  here  tell  me  that  Lecomte 
has  a  good  show  with  a  light  track. " 

"Then  I'll  probably  not  lose  much  money  by  going 
away,"  replies  the  Kentuckian.  "By  the  by,  what  is 
the  amount  of  property  that  you  expect  to  pick  up  for 
me  here  ?  Five  hundred  dollars  ?  Eh,  Mr.  Jarvis  ?" 
he  cries  jocularly.  For  the  attorney,  having  got  the 
papers  in  his  pocket,  is  making  a  hurried  rush  for  the 
levee,  as  the  cry  is  now:    "All  ashore!" 

"About  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars!" 
yells  back  Jarvis,  and  flies  over  the  gang  plank,  which 
is  just  being  drawn  in. 

Then  the  boat  shoots  out  into  the  river,  having  on 
its  deck  an  astounded  young  man,  who  is  muttering: 
"Two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars!  Great 
snakes!  Whoop!  If  I  get  it  what  a  wedding  spree 
Louise  and  I  will  have.  Ju-peter!  My  darling  and  I 
can  do  the  grand  on  that!" 


CHAPTER   XII. 

POUSSIN    THE    NOTARY. 

Coming  from  his  hurried  interview  with  Covington, 
Jarvis,  in  the  privacy  of  his  office,  goes  to  chuckling 
over  the  papers  he  has  received  from  the  Kentuckian, 
remarking:  "I'm  almost  ready  now  to  give  Martineau 
hot  shot.  Just  one  or  two  more  leetle  things,  and  all 
the  Tournay  estates,  goods,  chattels,  live  stock  " — he 
chuckles  horribly  over  the  last  item — "will  be  in  my 


128  BOB    COVINGTON 

hands,  to  turn  over  to  my  client  when  he  comes  back 
after  that  duello  affair  blows  over.  I  reckon  I'll  get 
the  evidence  I  want  this  morning.  That  man  I  sent 
to  La  Fourche  should  be  here  to-day,  Thursday,  sure  as 
boilers  will  burst." 

In  this  Mr.  Kitson's  predictions  proved  correct. 
His  agent  sent  to  search  the  records  comes  in  late  in 
the  afternoon,  but  brings  partial  disappointment  with 
him.  No  record  of  renunciation  of  community  of  gains 
by  Eulalie  Camila  is  in  evidence  in  La  Fourche  parish, 
yet  he  has  been  unable  to  discover  the  old  notary  Faval 
Bigore  Poussin,  the  people  there  stating  that  the  man 
had  removed  to  New  Orleans  about  three  years  before ; 
and  some  of  them  think  him  dead,  he  being  very  old, 
dried  up,  and  weazened  at  the  time  he  left  Guidrys. 

Jarvis's  agent,  however,  brings  a  description  of 
Poussin,  stating  that  though  French  on  his  father's 
side,  he  was  Spanish  on  his  mother's  side  and  had  lived 
at  Guidrys  for  nearly  forty  years.  Furthermore  Faval 
Bigore  Poussin  was  an  inveterate  gambler,  and  had  dis- 
sipated a  fortune  backing  every  cock  fight  and  every 
horse-race  held  in  the  district. 

"Just  the  man  to  aid  the  aristocratic,  dreaming, 
poetic,  romantic  Tournay  in  his  social  deception," 
cogitates  the  bustling  attorney,  though  he  makes  awry 
face  over  the  fact  that  the  man  whose  affidavit  he 
wants  is  probably  dead. 

His  face  is  still  longer  when,  after  inquiry  from 
Pierre  Larost,  he  finds  that  gentleman  knows  nothing 
about  any  one  of  the  name  of  Faval  Bigore  Poussin. 
Queries  among  the  legal  profession  also  give  no  further 
revelation. 

"  Poussin,  the  notary,  is  apparently  not  in  New 
Orleans,  unless  he  is  in  one  of  the  cemeteries,"  cogi- 
tates Kitson,  his  face  growing  long  as  he  thinks  of  this 
alternative,  for  Poussin's  affidavit  is  necessary  to  a  per- 
fect case,  and  some  information  which  has  been  brought 
him  by  his  alert  clerk,  Cotain,  tells  him  speedy  action  is 
vital. 

From  the  moment  the  news  had  come  that  Poussin  had 
left  Guidrys  to  live  in  New  Orleans,  Cotain,  under 
his  master's  instructions,  has  been  trying  to  get  track 


BOB    COVINGTON  1 29 

of  the  notary.  He  has  made  his  inquiries  chiefly  in 
the  offices  of  lawyers  who  would  be  apt  to  require  the 
services  of  such  a  functionary. 

Monsieur  Cotain  now  comes  in  to  make  further  report. 
He  says:  "I  have  inquired  of  a  sufficient  number 
of  lawyers  to  be  reasonably  sure  that  Poussin  is  not 
known  to  the  profession,  certainly  not  to  the  more 
reputable  portion  of  it." 

"Whom  did  you  ask  last  ?  "  queries  Kitson,  sharply. 

"The  French  avocats.  I  dropped  into  Selliers  & 
Content's ;  none  of  the  clerks  there  had  heard  of  him.  I 
pumped  Messrs.  Jordan  &  Labiche;  they  did  not  know 
of  him.  So  likewise  at  the  offices  of  Duval  et  Fils,  Ro- 
bain,  Patineau,  Jobert,  and  Martineau." 

"  Martineau!  "  cries  Jarvis,  aghast;  then  says,  sud- 
denly:  "  What  did  they  say  there  ?  " 

"Well,  I  asked  the  head  clerk,  Pichoir.  He  did  not 
know  of  the  man,  but  said  possibly  his  principal 
might  be  able  to  tell,  but  at  present  he  was  out,  at  the 
office  of  the  Havana  Line  of  steamboats." 

11  Great  Powhattamie!  I  will  go  down  there  and  see 
Martineau  myself;  he  is  probably  at  the  Havana  Line 
now.  It's  only  a  step,"  mutters  Kitson,  and  takes  his 
departure  hurriedly,  thinking:  "  By  the  Lord  !  I'll  have 
to  move  quick.  Martineau'll  do  it  in  a  hurry  if  he 
hears  any  inquiries  made  about  Poussin,  the  notary. 
That  was  an  unlucky  step  of  Cotain's,  though  not  his 
fault. "  For  Jarvishas  taken  no  one  into  his  confidence 
in  this  matter,  and  simply  told  his  assistant  to  see  if  he 
could  find  the  whereabouts  of  a  notary  named  Faval 
Bigore  Poussin. 

At  the  offices  of  the  Havana  Steamship  Company,  Kit- 
son  does  not  find  Martineau,  but  discovers  the  avocat  has 
just  engaged  a  cabin  with  two  first-class  passages  for 
France,  via  Cuba,  Martinique,  and  the  French  line  of 
steamboats  from  that  island. 

On  looking  over  the  ship's  list  of  passengers  he  finds 
no  names  are  registered  for  the  berths  engaged  by  Mar- 
tineau, and  goes  away,  meditatively  whistling:  "By 
Jove,  I've  struck  the  old  fox's  last  dodge!  But,  jump- 
ing jingo!  I  must  get  that  evidence  in  time  !  The  boat 
sails  to-morrow.     If  I   can't  get  it,  I'll  have  to  bluff 


130  BOB    COVINGTON 

without  it!  Any  way  there  shan't  be  any  stealing  from 
my  client  when  I've  his  power  of  attorney,  ready/0/-  use. " 

Going  back  to  his  office  he  looks  over  this  paper 
very  carefully,  to  be  sure  he  has  given  himself  all  the 
power  necessary.  It  being  nearly  evening,  he  lights 
the  gas  and  by  it  reads  the  documents  that  young  Cov- 
ington had  signed  this  morning. 

"Yes;  that's  straight  enough  and  strong  enough  for 
me  to  hold  anything  that  may  come  to  him — real  estate, 
merchandise,  goods,  chattels,  bonds,  securities,  live 
stock,  and  personal  property  of  any  kind.  The  ac- 
knowledgment is  also  in  perfect  form,"  he  mutters, 
then  suddenly  utters  such  a  war-whoop  of  astounded  joy 
that  Cotain  flies  in  from  the  outer  office  to  ask  what  is 
the  matter. 

"Nothing,  nothing,  Cotain,  only  we've  spotted  our 
notary!  I  had  him  acknowledge  two  papers  this  morn- 
ing, and  by  the  Holy  Poker!  I  never  looked  at  his 
name!  Yes;  Faval  Bigore  Poussin;  he  s  down  on 
Fulton  Street  somewhere.  I  don't  wonder  reputable 
attorneys  didn't  know  of  him.  I  reckon  all  the  docu- 
ments that  fellow  acknowledges  are  agreements  for 
sporting  events  and  sailor  affidavits.  It's  mighty 
curious  I  didn't  run  across  him  some  time  in  the  course 
of  my  practice." 

With  this  uncomplimentary  allusion  to  his  clientage 
Kitson  says:  "  Now  to  clap  hands  on  him!"  and  takes 
his  way  to  Fulton  Street.  After  hunting  about  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  in  semi-darkness  he  finally  discovers 
the  notary's  sign,  and  reading  it,  chuckles:  "He 
must  be  a  curious  fellow.  Down  on  his  luck  a  little — 
so  much  easier  for  me." 

The  place  is  lighted  up,  and  one  or  two  people  have 
just  gone  in  ahead  of  him,  as  Jarvis  opens  the  door, 
which  he  notices  indicates  exit  or  entrance  by  the 
ringing  of  a  bell  attached  to  it.  Behind  a  little  counter 
the  man,  he  is  in  search  of,  is  apparently  doing  a  busi- 
ness, anything  but  notarial. 

"Ah!  "remarks  the  little  dried-up  individual  with 
sharp  eyes.  "Monsieur  has  come  for  tickets  for  the 
cock-fight  to  morrow  evening  at  Rodriguez." 

"  No,  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  have!" 


BOB    COVINGTON  131 

"Pardon!  Then  Monsieur  wishes  the  latest  infor- 
mation of  the  horses  for  Saturday's  race.  I  have  just 
received  a  very  curious  and  valuable  tip  with  regard  to 
it.  Can  tell  you  the  exact  time  of  Lecomte's  trial  this 
morning." 

"No;  I'm  not  a  sport,"  mutters  Kitson. 

"Ah,  then,  Monsieur,  will  you  please  wait  for  these 
gentlemen? "  and  Jarvis  sees  him  sell  a  couple  of  tickets 
for  Rodriguez'  cock-fight  to  some  Spanish-looking  in- 
dividuals, telling  them  it  will  be  a  grand  main,  Cuba 
vs.  Louisiana;  the  finest  birds  have  just  arrived  on  the 
Havana  steamer. 

"You  don't  remember  me?"  says  Jarvis,  as  the 
jingling  bell  announces  the  two  men  have  gone  out. 
"You  acknowledged  a  couple  of  documents  for  me  this 
morning,  on  the  steamboat." 

"Ah,  out,  Monsieur,  you  wish  my  services  as  a  notary? 
Those  papers  were  acknowledged  correctly? ' 

"Yes;  but  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  another 
matter." 

"  Certainement !  Ah!  you  do  want  information  about 
the  race.  I  can  make  it  very  valuable  to  you,  Monsieur. 
Step  into  my  private  office,  for  this  is  a  secret  that  is 
worth  a  great  deal  of  money.  Parbleu!  If  it  were  known 
the  betting  would  change  immediately  in  New  Orleans. 
This  way,  Monsieur!  "  and  Poussin  shows  Jarvis  into  a 
little  room  that  is  behind  the  more  public  part  of  his 
establishment.  Here  there  are  writing  materials,  pens, 
ink  and  paper,  one  or  two  notarial  stamps,  two  or  three 
dilapidated  chairs,  a  rickety  table,  and  a  rusty  old 
safe — the  whole  illuminated  by  a  single  gas-jet. 

"Monsieur,  I  am  at  your  service,"  says  the  little 
man,  with  a  profound  bow. 

"  I  did  not  call  about  the  races,  but  on  legal  busi- 
ness," returns  the  lawyer,  who  has  been  occupying  his 
time  by  mentally  measuring  the  individual  he  is  ad- 
dressing. "Your  name  is  Faval  Bigore  Poussin,  once 
notary  at  Guidrys. " 

"Yes;  for  over  forty  years.  But,  Monsieur,  you 
will  pardon  me — What  may  you  wish  to  know,  before 
I  answer  any  questions?  Voila !  the  bell — Excuse 
me  a  moment!  "  and  Poussin  runs  out,  apparently  to' 


132  BOB    COVINGTON 

sell  more  tickets  for  the  cock-fight,  for  Jarvis  hears 
him  in  excited  voice,  crying:  "Six  magnificent  com- 
bats to-morrow  evening !  Chickens  of  the  finest  breed ! 
Four  pound,  eight-ounce  cocks — two-year-olds!  " 

During  this,  the  lawyer  thinks  the  matter  over  and 
determines  that  Poussin  must  not  know  the  real  object 
for  which  he  wishes  his  affidavit.  "That  would  be  ex- 
pensive with  that  fellow,"  chuckles  Kitson  grimly. 

A  moment  after,  the  notary  returns  to  him  and  says: 
"  Now,  Monsieur,  your  answer  to  my  question?" 

"Well,"  remarks  the  attorney,  consideringly,  "I  am 
looking  up  the  title  of  a  piece  of  property  on  Espla- 
nade Street.  You  made  an  affidavit  in  regard  to  that 
title  twenty  years  ago;  do  you  remember  it?" 

As  the  lawyer  speaks  he  thinks  he  sees  a  start  of 
recollection  in  the  shrewd  yet  monkey  face.  Then  to 
his  dismay  Poussin  says  stupidly:  "No,  monsieur;  I 
remember  nothing  about  it — You  will  excuse  me — the 
ring  at  my  bell  again!"  and  goes  out  to  sell  more 
tickets  to  Rodriguez'  cock-fight,  or  a  tip  upon  some 
of  the  races,  or  something  or  other.  At  all  events,  he 
does  not  return  again,  while  Kitson  sits  cursing  him 
under  his  breath.  Finally  the  lawyer  looks  out  and 
sees  the  notary  busy  counting  up  his  day's  receipts. 

"Look  here!  I  want  to  see  you!"  calls  Jarvis, 
sharply. 

"Monsieur,  I  have  told  you  that  I  remember 
nothing." 

"I  have  got  something  here  that  may  quicken  your 
memory." 

"  Bien!"  cries  the  little  Creole,  and  coming  in  to  him 
once  more,  laughs:  "  Monsieur,  what  quickens  memory 
in  a  poor  man  ?" 

"Ten  dollars!" 

"  I  can  remember  very  little  for  so  poor  a  sum." 

"Well,  I  can't  afford  to  pay  more." 

"Monsieur,  I  have  been  very  unfortunate.  I  have 
lost  a  great  deal  upon  the  last  races.  Cannot  you  say 
more  ?" 

"That's  my  price!" 

"  I  can  remember  only  a  little  for  ten  dollars." 

"Well,  spit  it  out!" 


BOB    COVINGTON  133 

"  Well;  you  have  not  given  me  the  ten  dollars." 

"And  by  the  Lord  Harry,  I  won't!"  cries  Kitson 
firmly,  for  he  now  knows  that  if  he  raises  his  terms  he 
will  probably  get  very  little  and  have  to  pay  a  good 
deal  for  it,  and  by  this  time  has  become  aware  that  if 
the  man  guesses  his  real  object  for  wishing  the  affi- 
davit it  will  be  a  matter  not  of  tens  but  of  hundreds  of 
dollars  to  stimulate  his  memory  up  to  the  proper  point. 
"  It  ain't  altogether  important,  "continues  the  attorney, 
nonchalantly:  "It's  only  a  duplicate  of  an  affidavit  I 
wanted  of  you — just  the  same  as  you  made  for  Dubois 
&  Merrill.  It  will  expedite  my  search  of  the  title; 
but  I  can  easily  get  the  information  from  Mr.  Merrill 

in   California.     If  you    cannot    remember "    and 

Jarvis  seems  about  to  leave. 

"But  Monsieur — my  mind  seems  clearer  now!  Per- 
haps I  can  recollect." 

"  For  ten  dollars  ?" 

"A  little  for  ten  dollars." 

"A  little  is  of  no  earthly  use!  Ten  dollars  is  my 
figure  for  all — the  affidavit  in  full!"  and  Kitson  goes 
slowly  to  the  door. 

But  the  Creole  calls  him  hastily  back  and  says: 
"Monsieur,  if  I  receive,  as  notary,  my  fees  for  register- 
ing my  own  affidavit,  in  addition  to  the  ten  dollars,  I 
will  make  the  deposition  that  you  wish." 

"Very  well;"  assents  the  attorney,  and  goes  to 
questioning  rapidly:  "You  were  notary  at  Guidrys 
forty  years  ago.     You  sold  a  slave " 

"Yes;  I  sold  many  slaves.  In  those  days  I  was 
very  rich,"  says  the  man  dreamily.  "I  was — permit 
me  to  tell  you;  you  are  not  the  kind  to  be  shocked — I 
was  the  agent  for  Monsieur  Jean  Lafitte,  fought  with 
him  at  the  battle  of  New  Orleans,  and  with  him 
received  pardon  from  the  United  States  Government 
for  any  acts  of  privateering  or  smuggling  we  had  done. 
That  victory  that  gave  us  the  thanks  of  General  Jack- 
son and  the  American  Government  destroyed  my  great 
prosperity.  Under  promise  of  pardon  the  band 
divided  their  spoils,  and  a  great  many  of  them  settled 
down  and  became  planters.  It  was  the  end  of  a  great 
company!  "    This  last,  very  sadly.    "  I  perceived  what 


134  COB    COVINGTON 

would  be  the  effect  of  the  clemency  of  the  United 
States,  and  struggled  against  it;  but  it  came.  Where 
now  are  Jean  and  Pierre  Lafitte  and  that  gallant 
band?     Gone!" 

"I'll  be  gone  in  a  minute,  too,"  says  Kitson, 
savagely,  "if  you  don't  get  to  your  point!  Quit 
romancing!  Now  come  to  business!  You  sold  a 
slave,  one  Eulalie  Camila ?  " 

"  Eulalie  Camila?  "  the  man  starts. 

"Yes,  Eulalie  Camila!  Therefore  it  was  not  neces- 
sary for  her  to  put  her  name  to  the  deed  of  Prosper 
Delaunay  Tournay,  though  some  kind  of  a  ceremony 
or  reputed  marriage — of  course  not  legal — took  place 
between  them." 

"Ah!  Oui,  monsieur,  I  remember — the  marriage 
was " 

"  Of  no  account!  All  I  want  is  your  affidavit.  A 
duplicate  of  the  one  you  made  before  Messrs.  Dubois 
&  Merrill  would  pass  that  title  as  good  and  complete. 
Now  do  you  want  to  give  it  or  not,  for  ten  dollars  and 
no  more?  " 

a  And  my  notary's  fees?  " 

11  And  your  notary's  fees,  but  not  another  red  cent." 

'Monsieur,  I  will  make  the  affidavit."  Then 
Poussin  goes  on,  dreamily:  "Yes,  I  sold  her  in 
1832.  To  be  sure  let  me  consult  my  account  book." 
He  hurriedly  unlocks  and  opens  the  dilapidated  safe 
which  stands  at  the  back  of  the  apartment,  then,  after 
examining  and  rummaging  over  a  number  of  dusty 
papers,  old  documents  and  time-stained  memorandum- 
books,  he  cries:  "Yes;  it  is  here!"  and,  producing  an 
old  ledger,  shows  to  Kitson's  gloating  eyes  the  follow- 
ing entry: 

"  1832—  March  21st. 

Sold  to  Prosper  Delaunay  Tournay, this  day,  Eulalie  Camila, 
aged  19,  also  the  mulatto  girl  Dorcas,  age  16,  and  negr' 
boy,  Jumbo,  age  17,  for  $1,500  cash,  and  order  on  Dobson  & 
Cartwright,  New  Orleans,  for  two  hogheadsof  plug  tobecco 
and  six  bales  average  cotton.  Delivered  goods  same  day." 

As  he  sees  this  record  of  faded  ink,  the  paper  yellow 
from  age,  by  great  effort  Kitson   keeps  the  joy  out  of 


BOB    COVINGTON  135 

his  face.  Then  he  contrives  to  mutter:  "  Yes;  that — 
that  settles  the  date;  now  for  your  affidavit,"  and,  sit- 
ting down  at  the  table  Jarvis  draws  up  the  deposition 
he  wants,  in  a  form,  as  he  remarks  to  himself,  ''strong 
enough  to  chain  the  Goddess  of  Liberty." 

''There!  Sign  your  name  to  that,"  says  the  law- 
yer, and  Poussin,  putting  his  signature  to  the  same,  is 
about  to  affix  his  notarial  seal,  but  is  suddenly  stopped 
by  the  attorney's  suggesting:  "That  might  not  be 
quite  regular.  I  rather  guess  it  is  of  questionable  legality 
for  a  man  to  administer  oath  to  himself.  Now,  don't 
shake  y^ur  head  that  way  at  me.  I'll  pay  you  your 
fees  just  the  same,  but  we'll  have  this  acknowledged 
before  another  notary." 

Therefore,  he  takes  Mr.  Poussin  away  with  him, 
that  worth)  leaving  his  establishment  in  charge  of  a 
mulatto  boy  who  has  come  in  and  seated  himself  be- 
hind the  counter  during  his  absence  in  the  inner  office 

It  is  now  so  ^ate,  that  Jarvis  leads  the  little  man 
with  him  into  the  French  quarter,  where  notaries 
generally  have  their  offices  and  homes  together. 
Here,  finding  one,  the  oath  is  administered  to  Lafitte's 
ex-agent,  and  the  proper  stamps  are  put  on  the  docu- 
ment. Then  KHson  pays  both  notaries  and  settles 
his  account  with  Poussin,  the  latter  begging  him  for 
"a  few — just  a  few  more  dollars." 

But  the  attorney  is  as  adamant  and  gives  him  only 
the  sum  specified,  saying:  "  It's  too  much,  any  way! 
This  is  only  a  duplicate — just  saves  me  a  leetle  trouble, 
that's  all.  Good  night.  Much  obliged,"  and  goes 
on  his  way,  his  feet  light  and  his  heart  happy,  cogitating: 
"Now,  I'll  make  things  almighty  taut  this  very  night." 

He  goes  up  to  his  office,  adding:  "  I'll  make  things 
all  straight  in  £Tew  York  also!  I'm  a  virtuous  lawyer! 
I  work  for  my  client,  and  by  Heaven !  no  man's  ever 
labored  harder  than  I  have  to-day  for  my  young  Ken- 
tucky blood.  7  will  get  everything  for  him !  That  in- 
vention of  Mr,  Morse  is  going  to  make  things  real 
easy  for  me  hce."  With  this  he  sits  down  and  writes 
a  telegram — something  very  unusual  to  him,  as  to 
most  business  men,  in  those  days;  for  messages  by 
wire  were  rare  and  expensive  luxuries,  and  the  tele- 


136  BOB    COVINGTON    • 

graph  had  not  been  very  long  completed  between  the 
Crescent  City  and  the  metropolis  of  the  Empire  State. 
This  is  what  Mr.  Kitson  writes: 
"  To  Robert  Boone  Covington, 

St.  Nicholas  Hotel,  New  York  City. 
Very  sick.     Return  to   New  Orleans   immediately,  bringing 
Nita  with  you.     Important.    Don't  telegraph  but  come  at  once. 

LOUISE. 
To  be  left  until  called  for. 

"I  reckon  that's  no  forgery  by  the  law  of  this 
State,"  chuckles  the  attorney  as  his  clerk  departs  to 
the  telegraph  office.  "  Now  to  put  a  stopper  on  Mar- 
tineau!  "  He  looks  at  his  watch.  "  It's  nearly  eight 
o'clock.  Shall  it  be  dinner  first  and  the  avocat 
afterward  ?  No,  I'm  prepared,  and  by  Heaven,  I  do 
my  duty!  No  one  can  ever  accuse  Kitson  Jarvis  of  not 
doing  the  square  thing  by  his  client." 

So  he  starts  from  his  office,  humming  a  merry  tune, 
chuckling  to  himself  at  one  moment,  laughing  out 
loud  at  others  and  snapping  his  big  fingers  gleefully  at 
each  step;  to  bring  such  misery  as  even  lawyers  sel- 
dom bring  to  suffering  humanity  in  the  pursuit  of  their 
daily  bread. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 
"this  man  must   be  mad!" 

On  arriving  in  Custom  House  Street,  Kitson  sees 
standing  in  front  of  Martineau's  offices  a  carriage. 
Inspecting  this,  as  he  crosses  the  street,  he  notes  it  is 
the  Tournay  equipage,  recognizing  the  driver  who  sits 
upon  the  box  and  the  cross-matched  team  of  horses. 

Then  his  eyes  catching  the  gleam  of  gas-lights  on 
the  lower  floor,  which  is  still  faintly  illuminated,  the 
attorney  communes  with  himself,  even  as  he  raps  on 
the  outside  door:  "By  Jupiter!  my  guess  was  right! 
That  French  fox  is  getting  the  bird  ready  to  fly  away. 
Miss  Tournay  is  with  him  now — probably  receiving 
money  for  her  traveling  expenses  and  ticket  for  the. 


BOB    COVINGTON  137 

Havana  boat.  I  was  just  in  time!  Nebuchadnezzar! 
Won't  young  Covington  thank  me  for  'putting  my 
hands  upon  this  beauty  before  she  flitted!  " 

Rapping  on  the  portal,  he  is  admitted  by  a  negro 
woman,  who,  on  hearing  he  wishes  to  see  her  master 
on  business,  says:  "Yes,  M'sieur  Martineau  down 
stairs,  but  'gaged.  Yo'  gibs  me  yo'  card  and  I'll  tell 
him  yo'  heah,"  and  shows  him  into  the  main  or  outer 
office,  in  which  one  gas-light  is  burning,  and  from 
which  the  clerks  have  departed  hours  ago. 

As  Kitson  sits  waiting,  he  thinks  he  hears  a  man's 
and  a  woman's  excited  voices  coming  to  him  from  the 
next  room,  then  a  hasty,  frightened,  masculine  ejacula- 
tion in  French,  apparently  as  the  servant  presents  his 
card;  next  a  few  more  whispered  words. 

A  moment  after,  the  colored  girl  entering,  says: 
"  M'sieur  Martineau  see  yo',  sah !  "  and  shows  him  into 
the  second  office,  where  he  stands  gazing  at  the  Creole 
avocat  and  Miss  Louise  Tournay,  who  have  risen  as  he 
steps  in. 

Never  has  the  girl  seemed  to  Kitson  Jarvis  so  lovely, 
though  he  has  noted  her  several  times  :  once  at  the 
race-course,  once  at  Spanish  Fort,  once  at  Placide's 
Theatre,  and  each  time  she  has  looked,  as  he  has  ex- 
pressed it:  "Almighty  exquisite  in  design."  But  as 
he  gazes  on  her, — perchance  with  freer  glance  taking 
in  a  little  more  detail — never  has  he  seen  her  so  ex- 
quisitely brilliant.  Mayhap  it  is  because  of  the  very 
plainness  of  her  costume,  for  Louise  is  not  now  in  a 
gala  toilette,  but  in  a  plain  traveling  dress  or  walking 
costume  of  dark  cloth  of  light  texture.  This,  without 
furbelow  or  trimming  save  some  velvet  bands,  dis- 
plays her  noble  figure  without  distroying  the  justness 
of  its  symmetry  or  marring  its  graceful  contours  by 
puffs  or  flounces. 

Her  face,  even  as  he  gazes  on  it,  has  a  somewhat 
startled  expression,  which  adds  to  its  loveliness.  Upon 
her  head  is  a  hat,  which  scarcely  conceals  the  slightly 
curling  locks  upon  which  it  is  perched.  Her  delicate 
hands  are  gloved;  from  out  the  dark  folds  of  her  skirt 
peeps  a  little  foot,  perfectly  booted.  The  only  relief 
of  the  costume  are  plain  lace  ruchings  at  throat  and 


138  BOB    COVINGTON 

wrists — emphasizing  the  whiteness   of   her   neck   and 
arms. 

"  Perhaps  it's  kinder  lucky  I  found  her  here,"  cogi- 
tates the  attorney.  "  I  can  settle  up  this  business  in 
one  whack.  Though — darn  me ! — I  hate  to  do  it ;  she 
looks  so  proud  and  chirpy." 

Which  in  truth  she  does!  Though  surprised  and 
perhaps- slightly  nervous  even  now,  the  girl  is  still 
supremely  happy. 

For  this  is  what  has  happened  to  Miss  Louise  Tour- 
nay  this  day! 

Mr.  Covington  having  departed  this  morning,  leav- 
ing his  sweetheart  sad  at  his  parting,  yet  happy  in  his 
love,  and  filled  with  the  ecstasy  that  comes  to  most 
girls  but  once  in  life — that  of  making  preparations  to 
mate  with  the  man  of  her  heart — Louise  has  cried  to 
Mrs.  Joyce:  "I  must  be  worthy  of  him!  My  Bob 
must  think  me  themost  beautiful  bride  in  Louisiana! 
My  wedding  dress !     My  trousseau !" 

Gay  and  excited,  she  has  dragged  with  her  Mrs. 
Joyce,  who  has  a  white,  startled  face,  in  a  long 
round  of  nuptial  shopping,  inspecting  the  stocks  of 
Mesdames  Olympe  and  Sophie,  remarking  to  her  com- 
panion: "  My  trousseau  shall  be  worthy  of  the  gentle- 
man I  wed !  " 

This  has  occupied  her  pretty  well  into  the  afternoon. 
Then,  after  dinner,  she  has  gone  to  figuring  and  cried 
out:  "Oh,  how  extravagant  I  have  been!  I  must  see 
Monsieur  Martineau  quick!  Oh,  he  must  be  liberal  tome 
in  this  my  hour  of  happy  triumph!"  and  laughed.  "  How 
he'll  scold  me  until  he  learns  the  good  news !  Gracious ! 
I  wish  Bob  had  told  him!— It — it  is  so  embarrassing!" 
giving  a  coquettish  moue. 

This  has  made  her  very  well  pleased  to  receive  a  note 
from  Martineau,  asking  her  to  call  upon  him  this  even- 
ing. To  this  interview  she  would  have  brought  Mrs. 
Joyce,  but  that  lady  has  an  ague  shudder  and  has  pleaded 
indisposition.  For  something  has  been  wearing  upon 
Pamela's  mind,  to  the  destruction  of  her  nervous  sys- 
tem. Two  or  three  times,  as  she  has  looked  at  the  girl, 
her  spectacles  have  been  dimmed. 

Therefore,  accompanied  by  her  maid,  Lorena,  Miss 


BOB    COVINGTON  139 

Tournay  has  been  driven  over  this  evening  to  Monsieur 
Martineau's  combined  office  and  residence,  to  be  re- 
ceived by  the  old  gentleman  in  his  private  consulting 
room,  he  thinking  it  well  his  speech  to-night  shall  be 
far  from  the  listening  ears  of  servants.  Somewhat  to 
the  astonishment  of  Miss  Tournay,  he  has  curtly  di- 
rected Lorena  to  step  upstairs  and  wait  for  them  in  his 
kitchen. 

Then  the  old  avocat  has  motioned  Louise  to  a  seat, 
and  with  a  very  serious  look  on  his  face,  has  said: 
"My  dear  child,  I  have  sent  for  you  to  speak  to  you 
on  a  matter  of  the  gravest  importance.  I  have  tickets 
for  you  and  Mrs.  Joyce  to  leave  here  to  morrow  by  the 
steamer  to  Havana,  then  to  Martinique,  then  to  Paris, 
where  you  will  meet  your  sister. " 

"Impossible!    I  cannot  go!"    cries  the  fiancee  sud 
denly. 

"You  must!  " 

"Not  now!      Afterward "  she  laughs.      "And 

apropos  of  that,  you  dear  old  Monsieur  Martineau,  I 
want  to  ask  you  for  six  thousand  dollars." 

"  Mon  Dieu!"  gasps  the  avocat.  And  he  suddenly 
breaks  out  upon  her:  "You  don't  understand!  Poor 
child!     You  do  not  know!  " 

"Ah,  it  is  you  who  do  not  know;  it  is  you  who  do 
not  understand,"  returns  the  girl,  mockingly.  "But 
I  will  enlighten  you."  With  this  she  blushes  hotly,  but 
looks  archly  at  him,  then  droops  her  head,  and  mur- 
murs:  "  Don't  look  at  me  while  I  tell  you  my  secret." 

"Don't  look  at  me"  whispers  the  guardian  of  the 
Tournay  estate  in  sorrowful  voice,  "while  I  disclose 
to  you  my  secret. " 

And  they  would  each  tell  the  other  astounding  and 
shocking  things,  did  not  at  this  moment,  after  a  hasty 
knock,  and  being  told  to  enter,  the  negro  woman  who 
has  admitted  Kitson  Jarvis  come  courtesying  in  and 
say:   "A  gem'man  to  see  yo',  sah." 

Looking  at  the  card,  Martineau  reads  on  it,  hastily 
scribbled:  "Imperative,  important  business!  can't 
wait!"  and  beneath  in  Roman  type  is  the  name  of 
"Kitson  Jarvis,  Attorney  and  Counselor  at  Law  and 
Proctor  in  Admiralty."     He  gazes  at  Louise. 


140  BOB    COVINGTON 

But  she  is  impatiently  whispering:  ''Now what  were 
you  going  to  say?  Shall  you  tell  your  secret,  or  I  tell 
mine  fast?  Mine  will,  I  hope,  meet  your  approval 
and  make  you  happy."  This  last  in  laughing  arch- 
ness. 

But  her  words  die  away  as  she  sees  Martineau's 
awful  face.  He  says,  slowly,  to  the  servant :  "Show  the 
gentleman  in  at  once!  " 

The  colored  woman  going  out,  he  looks  at  Louise 
with  eyes  so  sad,  so  frightened  that  they  startle  Miss 
Tournay,  as  he  mutters:  "Perhaps — Mon  Dieu!  — 
he  may  tell  it  to  you.  Perhaps  —  Oh,  God  pity  you — it 
has  come  f  " 

But  Jarvis,  unaware  of  what  has  preceded  his  en- 
trance, after  a  nod  to  the  attorney,  which  is  slightly 
returned,  says  rapidly:  "I  would  like  a  few  words  with 
you  in  private,  Monsieur  Martineau;"  for  even  he 
shrinks  from  telling  his  tale  in  the  presence  of  so 
beautiful  a  victim.  To  this  he  adds,  with  great  sig- 
nificance: "Do  you  think  she  had  better  hear  just  at 
present?" 

His  tone,  his  look,  tell  the  Creole  attorney  the  er- 
rand on  which  Kitson  has  come.  His  next  words  drive 
home  the  truth  and  put  the  iron  into  Martineau's 
tender  heart,  for  the  man  continues:  "The  action  you 
have  taken  in  regard  to  those  tickets  for  the  Havana 
boat  makes  it  necessary  I  protect  my  client  at  once. 
Yes ;  those  tickets  lying  on  your  desk !  "  For  the  Creole 
has  made  a  gesture  of  dissent,  though  he  has  said 
nothing. 

"For  whom  do  you  act  ?  "  mutters  the  avocat^  "  and 
what  do  you  mean  ?  '• 

"I  act  for  the  heir  of  the  Tournay  estate — the 
gentleman  who  gave  me  this  power  of  attorney."  And 
Kitson  produces  the  document  signed  this  morning. 

Glancing  at  the  signature,  Martineau  does  not 
answer,  but  sits  at  his  desk  shadkig  his  eyes  with  a 
hand  that  trembles  slightly.  A  moment  after,  he  says 
hoarsely,  "What  do  you  claim  ?  " 

"Everything !  Real  estate,  personal  property,  live 
stock — everything!  Prosper  Delaunay  Tournay  died 
intestate ;  he  dared  not  make  a  will !  " 


BOB    COVINGTON  141 

"Dared?"  cries  the  girl  haughtily,  for  Louise  has  re- 
mained standing,  gazing  on  these  men,  surprised,  not 
knowing  whether  to  go  or  stay,  their  words  having  taken 
but  a  few  brief  moments.  "Dared!"  she  repeats; 
then  adds,  haughtily:  "You  are  speaking  of  my  father, 
sir! — Prosper  Delaunay  Tournay  was  my  father  !  " 

But  Kitson  goes  on,  in  the  cold  tones  of  a  lawyer: 
"I  am  speaking  for  my  client,  whose  interests  I  must 
protect.  I  have  here  the  affidavit  of  Faval  Bigore 
Poussin,  stating  that  he  sold  the  slave-girl,  Eulalie 
Camila . " 

Though  this  last  is  addressed  to  Martineau,  Louise 
breaks  in  again  in  sharp  astonishment,  crying:  "Mon- 
sieur Martineau,  tell  him  he  lies!  That  is  my  mother's 
name!  " 

"  Unfortunately  for  you,  yes!  "  returns  Jarvis.  But 
he  pays  little  heed  to  Miss  Tournay  and  still  continues 
to  address  Martineau  in  rather  laughing  triumph : 
"That  little  deed  without  the  signature  of  Eulalie 
Camila  to  that  Esplanade  Street  property  gave  me 
the  hint.  I  worked  it  up.  I  have  Merrill's  letter — of 
the  firm  of  Dubois  &  Merrill — from  California,  stat- 
ing the  facts.  Here  it  is!  I  have  the  affidavit  of 
Poussin,  who  sold  Eulalie  Camila  to  Prosper  Delaunay 
Tournay.  I  make  claim  for  the  next  of  kin  and  true 
heir  to  the  whole  Tournay  estate — to  everything. 
Acting  under  his  power  of  attorney,  I  shall  not  permit 
you  to  ship  or  run  out  from  the  country  any  of  -his 
goods  or  chattels!  You  know  what  I  mean — you 
know  what  those  Havana  tickets  mean.  If  you  dare 
let  that  girl  move,  I  will  arrest,  detain  and  put  her  in 
the  calaboose,  as  fleeing  from  her  master.  You  see 
what  Merrill  writes!  Read  it! — as  sound  a  lawyer  as 
ever  practiced  at  the  Louisiana  bar — '  Article  945 
Civil  Code,  Louisiana:  "  Slaves  are  incapable  of  in- 
heriting or  transmitting  property;"  Article  1462: 
"Slaves  cannot  dispose  of  or  receive  by  donation, 
inter  vivos  or  mortis  causa  !  '  " 

"  Slaves  /"  screams  Louise,  taking  up  the  strain  in  a 
higher  key.  "You — you  are  speaking  about  my 
mother?" 

Jarvis,  looking  on  her  now,  notes  her  face  has  grown 


142  BOB    COVINGTON 

very  white,  and  her  lips,  that  were  red  as  coral,  have 
become  parched  and  gray. 

"Yes,  of  course.  Your  mother  and  your  sister's 
mother!  "  he  answers,  his  voice  hoarse  but  triumph- 
ant. To  this  he  adds  in  horrible  impressiveness: 
"Civil  Code,  Article  183.  —  'All  their  issue  and 
offspring,  born  or  to  be  born,  shall  be  and  they  are 
hereby  declared  to  be  and  remain  forever  hereafter 
absolute  slaves,  and  shall  follow  the  condition  of  the 
mother. '  " 

And,  looking  at  the  avocat  he  laughs:  "You 
can't  deny  it,  Martineau !  "  then  turns  and  addresses 
the  girl  in  tones  that  seem  to  her  insane :  ' '  You  are  not 
Miss  Louise  Tournay — it's  just  as  well  for  you  to  know 
it  now — you  are  Louise;  you  and  your  sister  Nita  are 
part  of  this  estate,  and,  as  such,  belong  to  my  client!  " 

"Belong?  "  echoes  Louise,  in  hoarse  whisper,  her 
lips  white,  her  frame  trembling  at  this  dire  but  incred- 
ible suggestion.  Then,  turning  to  Martineau,  who 
still  sits,  his  head  in  his  hands,  she  cries:  "What  does 
he  mean?  Why  don't  you  answer?  Rise  up  and  look 
him  in  the  face  as  I  do,  and  tell  him  it  is  not  true!  " 

But  Martineau  does  not  answer,  though  Kitson  does: 
"He  don't  tell  me  it  isn't  true,  because  he  can't'" 
chuckles  the  claimant. 

Up  to  noy*  this  horrid  interview  has  been  as  unreal 
to  Louise  aj  an  opium  dream.  Suddenly  the  appre- 
hension of  what  this  man  is  proclaiming  gets  into  the 
girl's  mind,  though  it  seems  to  her  as  incredible  as  if 
she  were  told  she  were  a  beast  of  the  field,  chewing 
the  cud.  For  here  she  sharply  cries,  with  white  lips: 
"God  of  heaven !     You  mean  I  am  a  slave?  " 

"  That  is  exactly  what  I  do  mean !" 

To  this  the  girl  makes  no  answer,  but  tearing  the 
gloves  off  her  white  hands,  looks  at  her  patrician  fin- 
gers and  beautifully  tinted  nails.  Then,  with  one 
hasty  sweep,  she  whips  up  a  sleeve  to  show,  to  the  el- 
bow, an  arm,  white,  dazzling,  as  beautifully  propor- 
tioned and  as  exquisitely  moulded  as  that  of  Grecian 
goddess.  Gazing  at  this  with  all  her  eyes,  she  holds 
it  in  Kitson's  face  and  cries:  "Impossible!  Who  will 
dare  to  say  that  there  is  one  drop  of  tainted  black 


BOB    COVINGTON  I43 

blood  within  my  veins?  Monsieur  Martineau,  the  man 
is  mad!  Call  for  the  police! — he  must  be  put  in  the 
madhouse!" 

Then,  the  attorney  not  answering  her,  she  mutters  : 
"  Get  up !  Look  him  in  the  face  and  tell  him  he  lies — 
as  I  tell  him!" 

And  the  avocat  rising,  she  catches  his  eyes,  then 
murmurs,  brokenly:  "  Mo?i  Dieu !  There  is  despair 
in  your  face!  "  next  shrieks:  ik  My  God!  you  believe 
him!" 

"  He  can  do  nothing  else!  No  lawyer  in  this  com- 
monwealth could,"  remarks  Jarvis  dryly,  his  pencil 
rapping  on  the  desk  a  funeral  march  for  her  heart  as 
she  listens.  "  Think  for  yourself  and  you  will  per- 
ceive that  Martineau  knows  and  has  known,  and 
keeping  it  quiet  for  your  sake,  has  tried  to  ship  you  off 
to  Paris." 

Here  suddenly,  Louise  cries:  "  Mon  Dieuf  That's 
what  you  meant  by  the  tickets!  That's  the  reason 
you  wanted  us  to  go  away  as  soon  as  my  father  died! 
Ah,  now  I  know!  " 

"Yes,  and  he  knows,  too!"  chuckles  Jarvis.  "I 
have  enough  evidence  here  to  prove  my  case  in  any 
court  in  Louisiana.  This  power  of  attorney  from  the 
heir  of  the  estate  entitles  me  to  take  and  to  hold 
everything  that  is  his — even  you,  young  lady!  Besides, 
I  have  this  document ! "  He  holds  before  Louise's  hor- 
rified eyes  a  copy  of  the  transcript  taken  from  the  led- 
ger of  old  Poussin  that  night,  crying:  "See!  Your 
mother's  bill  of  sale — March  21st,  1832 — two  years 
before  you  were  born!  " 

But  the  girl  screams  out,  in  awful  jeer:  M  'For  fif- 
teen hundred  dollars  cash,  two  hogsheads  of  plug  to- 
bacco and  six  bales  of  cotton  /'  Yes!  I  am  indeed  mer- 
chandise !  "  then  mutters  hoarsely :  ' '  Who  —  who 
claims  me  in  servitude?" 

"Why  the  heir  to  the  estate  of  course — the  next  of 
kin — Robert  Boone  Covington,  of  Lexington,  Ken- 
tucky, whose  power  of  attorney  to  seize  and  hold  you  I 
have  within  my  hands.     Here  !  Look  at  it  !  " 

As  she  sees  the  signature  of  the  man  she  loves,  to 
this  thing  procured  for  her  degradation,  her  eyes  glaze 


144  BOB    COVINGTON 

with  horror;  one  gasping,    shrieking  wail  of   anguish 
comes  rasping  out  from  the  tortured  lips:    "  My  God! 

THE    MAN    WHOM    I    AM    TO    MARRY  !  " 

"The  man  you  are  to  marry?"  cries  Martineau, 
starting  up  at  this  new  revelation,  upon  which  Kitson 
even  looks  aghast. 

But  with  one  soft  sigh,  nature  having  mercifully 
stolen  thought  and  sentiency  from  out  this  suffering 
girl  in  her  extremity,  Louise  sinks  down  like  a  beauti- 
ful statue  thrown  from  its  pedestal  and  falls  at  their  feet, 
inert  as  marble,  and  for  the  moment — thank  God — as 
senseless. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"for  my  sister's  sake!" 

Martineau,  looking  on  her  face,  murmurs :  ' '  Pauvre 
— -pauvre  che'rief"  then  stooping  down,  sobs:  "  Viens 
dans  mes  bras!"  and  takes  to  his  heart  as  a  man,  this 
beautiful  but  stricken  creature  whom  the  laws  of  his 
land  had  made  him  unable  to  defend  as  a  lawyer.  Gaz- 
ing at  the  triumphant  Jarvis,  he  mutters:  " Miserable  ! 
You  are  satisfied  ? " 

And  though  Kitson  does  not  answer,  his  face  says 
that  he  is,  very  much  I 

"Help  me  to  revive  her — if  you  have  pity  in  your 
soul!  "  mutters  Martineau 

On  this  Jarvis  runs  into  the  back  office  and 
brings  water  to  dash  it  on  her  face,  which  is  now  pale 
as  ivory,  and  lifting  Louise  to  a  sofa  they  strive  to 
bring  sentiency  and  memory  back  to  her;  though  the 
Creole  mutters:   "Better  she  were  dead." 

"  Even  Kitson  would  pity  her — as  he  sprinkles  with 
water  the  fair  forehead  of  the  girl  from  which  the  clus- 
tering locks  of  soft  brown  hair  are  brushed  away,  dis- 
heveled now;  for  one  great  mass — bronze  in  the  light, 
dark  in  the  shadow,  falls  even  unto  her  waist — did  he 
not  note  t;  e  wondrous  beauty  of  this  chattel  per- 
sonal.    Even  as  he  looks  on  her  he  thinks:  "She's 


BOB   COVINGTON  145 

just  the  primest  goods!  My  client,  Covington,  will  be 
almighty  kind  to  her !  The  gal  will  forget  all  this, when 
she  finds  what  a  loving  master  he'll  make  to  her/' 
and  chuckles,  though  silently:  "Oh,  Hankey  Pankey! 
ain't  he  lucky!  How  Mr.  Bob'll  thank  me  for  what 
I've  done  for  him!  " 

A  few  minutes  after,  Miss  Tournay  comes  to  her  un- 
happy senses.  She  is  reclining  on  a  sofa,  her  hair  dis- 
heveled, her  hat  fallen  to  the  floor.  Martineau  is 
chafing  her  hands;  Mr.    Jarvis  is  fanning  her. 

She  murmurs  in  dazed  tones:  "Did  I  faint?"  then 
staggers  up  and  screams:  "No!  no!  I  can't  believe! 
It  is  impossible!  It  is  not  true!  I,  Louise  Tournay, 
educated  —  taught  to  believe  myself  one  of  the 
elect!  —  I  who,  to-night,  would  have  danced  with  the 
man  I  love  amid  the  proudest  ladies  in  all  this  city — 
claimed  as  a  slave  by  my  affianced  husband! — my 
Bob  —  whose  kisses  I  still  feel  upon  my  lips  —  I,  jn 
servitude!" 

Then  brushing  her  tangled  hair  off  her  brow  the 
girl  confronts  Kitson,  and  the  intensity  of  her 
glance  frightens  him.  "Tell  me,"  she  says  sud- 
denly, "one  thing  !  Answer  !  as  you  must  answer  at 
the  seat  of  God !  The  truth !  —  don't  trick  me !  Did 
Robert  Boone  Covington,  the  man  who  said  he  would 
wed  me  in  Christ  Church  next  month,  that  we  should 
go  through  life  hand  in  hand,  heart  to  heart,  husband 
and  wife —  did  he  know  that  you  were  in  his  name  to 
claim  me  as  his  bondmaid?  " 

At  this  Kitson  hesitates ! 

"  The  truth!  as  you  hope  to  see  God  !  " 

And  Kitson  tells  her  the  truth!  "No!"  he  says, 
impressively.  "  Covington  gave  me  his  power  of  at- 
torney, knowing  I  had  property  to  claim  for  him ;  but — 
as  the  Lord  is  above  me !  —  he  did  not  guess  it  was 
property  that  was  considered  yours  or  you  were  a  part 
of  it." 

"That  is  enough!  Thank  God!"  cries  the  girl. 
"  Now  I  can  live  until  I  see  his  face !  "  But  here,  catch- 
ing a  significant  glance  in  Jarvis's  eye,  she  suddenly 
falters:  "No  —  no!  Of  course  —  I  know  by  the  laws 
he  can't  marry  mel  "  then  adds  with  dignity:  "  Oblige 


146  BOB    COVINGTON 

me  by  withdrawing,  sir,  till  I  can  confer  with  Monsieur 
Martineau." 

Here  a  shock — the  first  of  many  which  are  to  fall 
upon  this  exquisite  creature — comes  to  Louise.  Mr. 
Kitson  says  deprecatingly:  "  You  will  excuse  me,  but 
I  have  my  client's  interests  to  protect.  There  mustbe 
no  chance  of  your  running  away — escaping — don't  you 
see!  " 

''You  have  my  word  on  that.  Mademoiselle  Louise 
will  remain  here!  "  returns  Martineau,  sharply. 

"You  will  excuse  me,  but — you  would  have  run 
her  out  of  here  to  morrow  if  I  had  not  interfered. 
Under  the  circumstances  you  will  not  blame  me,"  dis- 
sents Jarvis,  though  his  tone  is  apologetic. 

"If  you  will  wait  in  the  outer  office,  it  will  be  im- 
possible for  this — this  young  lady  to  leave  without  your 
seeing  her.  She  sits  here!  Permit  her  a  few  words 
with  me!"  Then  the  French  lawyer  cries  savagely: 
"  Hors  cTici  !  if  you  don't  leave  this  room  I  will  drive 
you  from  it." 

"Under  these  circumstances  I  will  withdraw  for  a 
few  minutes,"  remarks  Jarvis,  and  leaves  the  two  to- 
gether. 

Then  the  faltering  girl  comes  to  Martineau  and 
whispers:  "Is  this  true?  No  prevarication! — tell  me 
the  legal  truth.  Am  I  a  slave  of  Robert  Boone  Cov- 
ington, or  any  man  ?  Am  I  part  of  the  Tournay  es- 
tate ?  Am  I  not  my  mother's  legitimate  daughter  ? 
Was  she  not  the  legitimate  wife — or  was  she  the  slave 
of  my  father  ?  That's  what  he  means,  doesn't  he  ?  " 
pointing  to  the  outer  office,  where  Kitson  sits  on 
guard,  but  rubbing  his  hands  and  very  happy. 

"The  cold  legal  truth  of  the  matter  is  this — some- 
thing I  would  have  kept  from  you  all  your  life,  if  pos- 
sible— something  I  tried  to  shield  you  from,  but  now — 
pauvre  chh'iey  something  that  is  before  you  and  your 
sister,"  murmurs  her  adviser,  with  choking  voice. 

"  My  sister — Nita  ?  "  shudders  Miss  Tournay,  a  new 
horror  coming  into  her  face. 

"Your  father — curse  him  !  " 

"No— no!" 

"  Curse  him,  I  say !  "  continues  Martineau.    "Simulat- 


BOB    COVINGTON  147 

ed  marriage  with  Eulalie  Camila,  your  mother,  his  slave, 
bought  from  this  man  Poussin.  You  saw  the  documents, 
or  copies  of  them.  Your  father  did  not  manumit  your 
mother;  neither  did  he  free  you  or  your  sister.." 

" Oh,  cruel!"  falters  the  girl. 

"  Prosper  Tournay,"  says  the  avocat  bitterly,  "kept 
by  a  false  pride  from  acknowledging  his  sins,  could 
not  bring  it  to  his  paltering,  sensitive  heart — "  there  is 
a  sneer  in  the  lawyer's  voice — "to  placard  for  forty 
days  on  the  court-house  of  La  Fourche  Parish  his  in- 
tention to  manumit  you,  or  to  obtain  permission  from 
a  police  jury  for  the  same.  He  attempted  to  do  this 
once,  not  giving  your  names,  but  merely  stating  two 
slave  girls,  one  ten,  one  seventeen.  His  applica- 
tion was  refused  by  the  jury,  because  the  statement 
was  too  indefinite.  At  last  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
do  the  thing  as  prescribed  by  law.  I  drew  up  for  him 
the  papers  for  your  enfranchisement  and  your  sister's. 
He  was  about  to  come  to  New  Orleans  to  sign  them, 
when  death  overtook  him  by  the  accident." 

"No!  no!  Impossible!  "  moans  the  girl.  "  It  can- 
not be!" 

Here  the  attorney's  voice  strikes  her  hard  as  a 
death-warrant ;  he  mutters :  * '  Your  manumission  papers, 
also  your  sister's,  both  unsigned,  are  in  that  safe 
marked  '  Tournay ' ;  also  the  bill  of  sale  of  your 
mother,  Eulalie  Camila,  to  your  father." 

"Yes!  for  fifteen  hundred  dollars,  two  hogsheads  of 
tobacco,  and  six  bales  of  cotton,"  jeers  the  girl,  in 
such  unnatural  voice,  that  Jarvis  starts  up,  thinking 
she  has  gone  mad.  Then,  she  whispers:  "  I  curse  my 
father  also!"  next  mutters:  "No — no!  God  forgive 
him!  He  did  intend  to  do  me  and  my  sister  justice  at 
the  last."  Here,  suddenly,  a  shudder  runs  through 
Louise;  she  moans:  "Nita!  We  must  save  her!" 
and  the  noble  soul  of  the  girl  commences  to  shine 
through  all  the  anguish  in  her  face,  and  continues  to 
shine  while  she  makes  sacrifice  of  herself  to  save,  as 
she  pitifully  hopes,  her  sister. 

She  says:  "Send  for  this  man.  Make  compromise 
with  him,  so  that  Nita  may  escape.  I  know  Mr.  Cov- 
ington will  be  good  to  me — but — Oh!  Arvid  Martineau 


148  BOB    COVINGTON 

— will  he  regard  me  as  he  did  before — before  he  knew? 
and  what  may  he  not  decide  as  to  my  sister,  she  is 
young — she  may  anger  him.     Do  something  for  Nita ! " 

And  the  avocat  whispers:  "What  can  I  do  ?  Mon 
Dieu  !     What  can  I  ? " 

1  l  Make  some  compromise! — someway  to  save  her! 
You  know  she  was  always  your  favorite — you  dandled 
her  on  your  knee.  Save  Nita!  Call  him  in — save  Nita 
some  way!  " 

Then  Martineau  thinks  with  all  his  might,  but  can- 
not solve  the  problem  until  Louise  says,  suddenly: 
"  This  man  told  me  Mr.  Covington  did  not  know  the 
claim  to  be  made  in  his  name  was  for  the  estate  and 
included  us  two  poor  girls." 

"  Yes;  I  heard  that,"  answers  the  lawyer. 

"Then  Bob — Mr.  Covington — doesn't  know  yet  that 
Nita  is  his — his — I  cannot  say  it,  but  you  know  what  I 
mean.  If  he  is  not  communicated  with,  then  he  will 
send  my  sister,  as  he  promised  you,  to  Paris;  there  she 
can  protect  her  rights — if  she  has  any.  I  am  here;  I 
cannot  escape — I  must  see  him — this  man  I  love — and 
know  what  fate  he  has  prepared  for  me.  Then  shall 
come  to  me  what  to  do  with  my  poor  body  and  my 
poor  soul." 

With  this,  rising,  with  face  of  martyr  going  to  the 
tigers,  and  voice  made  strong  by  self-sacrifice  and 
sister's  love,  Louise  Tournay  stands  proudly  erect,  and 

says  commandingly:    "Mr. I  do  not  know  your 

name — the  attorney  for  Mr.  Covington — please  come 
to  me." 

Jarvis  enters,  and  is  pretty  well  aware  his  battle  is 
his  own,  the  property  his  client's,  and  his  commission 
is  as  good  as  in  his  pocket.  Something  in  the  girl's 
face  tells  him  this  as  she  speaks  slowly,  considerately: 
"  You  have  told  me  Mr.  Covington,  your  client, 
doesn't  know  of  this  claim,  or  what  he  claims  through 
you." 

"Quite  right,"  says  Jarvis. 

"  If  I — who  am  over  eighteen — agree  to  make  no  con- 
test in  the  matter  as  regards  myself,  will  you  agree  not  to 
communicate  by  telegraph  with  Mr.  Covington,  or  tell 
him  the  details  of  his  claim  until  he  returns?      Mon- 


BOB    COVINGTON  149 

sieur  Martineau  will  telegraph  him  to  come  back — you 
to  see  the  dispatch." 

"  The  covenant  of  one  in  servitude  has  no  legal 
weight!"  says  Jarvis. 

"  No — I  know  that;  but  if  I  give  my  word  to  make 
no  opposition— to  place  myself  subject  to  Mr.  Coving- 
ton's control " 

"  If  I  agree  to  do  this,  you  will  place  yourself  in  my 
hands?"  asks  Kitson,  "and  Monsieur  Martineau  will 
account  with  me  and  hold  any  moneys,  any  property  or 
estates  for  the  order  of  my  client?" 

' *  Yes!"  answers  the  girl,  suddenly,  desperately. 

"Under  the  circumstances  I'll  take  your  word  for 
it!"  answers  Jarvis,  with  sudden  urbanity. 

"  Will  you  make  oath  of  it,  solemnly — as  you  hope  to 
meet  your  God — that  you  will  not  communicate  with 
your  client  by  word  or  deed — especially  by  telegraph 
— until  he  returns  to  New  Orleans — until  I  have  spoken 
to  him?"  falters  Louise. 

"  Humph !    Your  sister's  in  New  York?  " 

"O— o— h,  yes." 

"Do  you  want  to  plead  her  cause  before  she 
knows?" 

"Yes!" 

"  You  wish  to  plead  in  person  to  the  man  who  has 
asked  you  to  marry  him — the  man  who  you  think 
loves  you — the  man  who " 

"  No;  I  know  he  could  not  marry  me  now!  "  breaks 
in  the  girl,  bitterly.  "The  laws  here  forbid  that.  But 
I  want  to  save  the  agony  that  has  come  to  me  this 
night  from  coming  to  my  sister.  Do  you  agree?  If 
not,  Monsieur  Martkieau,  let  the  law  take  its  course ; 
let  them  claim  me,  if  they  can  get  me;  let  them  drag 
me  into  court." 

"  Oh,  that  wouldn't  take  long.  The  laws  are  too 
well  settled  on  this  point.  Martineau  is  too  sound  a 
lawyer  not  to  know  that  as  well  as  I  do,"  cries  Jarvis, 
triumph  in  his  eye.  Then  he  goes  on:  "  But  I  don't 
wish  any  scandal;  I  don't  believe  my  client  would, 
and  if  you  will  put  yourself  in  my  hands  I  will  agree, 
under  bond  often  thousand  dollars,  if  you  want,  not  to 
communicate  from  this  moment — mark  the  time — 8.50 


150  BOB    COVINGTON 

P.  M.,  Thursday,  April  6,  1854 — with  Robert  Boone 
Covington  in  New  York,"  replies  Kitson,  who  cogently 
thinks  he  has  already  telegraphed  enough  to  ensure  all 
of  the  estate. 

"Then — dear  Monsieur  Martineau — draw  up  the 
bond,"  mutters  the  girl,  her  eyes  blazing  at  the  thought: 
"My  sister  will  be  free!  " 

"  Do  you  know  what  will  be  your  condition  under 
this  agreement?  "  asks  the  old  lawyer,  with  dismay  in 
his  voice. 

"Yes;  after  he  has  signed  I  am  under  his  control." 
She  turns  piteous  eyes  on  Kitson.  "He  will  be  the 
agent  of — of  my  owner.     Draw  up  the  agreement." 

Here  Martineau,  rising,  cries:  "  I  forbid  you  to  do 
this!" 

"But  mysister!  Think  of  my  sister!  "  falters  Louise, 
tears  dimming  her  sparkling  eyes. 

"  If  you  don't  give  up  and  do  as  you  agreed,"  inter- 
jects Kitson,  a  menace  in  his  tones,  "I  will  telegraph 
to  the  United  States  Marshal  in  New  York  to  take  pos- 
session of  and  hold  your  sister  Nita,  under  the  Fugitive 
Slave  Act.     I'll ." 

But  he  gets  no  further.  Louise  cries  hastily,  desper- 
ately:  "  You  shall  not!  Nita  shall  not  suffer  the  agony 
I  feci!  "  and  wringing  her  hands,  gasps:  "  I  agree!  I 
am  in  your  hands;  "  then  mutters  hoarsely:  "In  that 
safe — the  one  I  point  to — the  one  marked  '  Tournay  ' — 
you  will  find  the  bill  of  sale  of  my  mother,  Eulalie 
Camila,  and  the  papers  of  enfranchisement  for  me, 
drawn  up  for  my  father's  signature,  but  unsigned  by 
him!     Have  I  kept  my  word?" 

"Yes.  You  have  done  the  trick  this  time,  surely!  " 
chuckles  Jarvis,  adding  as  the  avocat  turns  away  with  a 
sigh:  "  I  serve  notice  on  you,  Arvid  Martineau,  not 
to  destroy  those  documents  that  are  the  property  of  my 
client.  I  reckon  the  papers  are  there  for  the  sister 
Nita's  manumission  also." 

"But  you  will  keep  your  word?  You  won't  telegraph 
Bob — No — no  I — I  can't  call  him  that  now — my  master, 
Mr.  Covington!"  screams  Miss  Tournay.  Then  turn- 
ing to  the  Creole,  she  says  determinedly :  "  I  have  kept 
my  word.  Draw  up  the  papers  for  this  man — see  that 
he  keeps  his  oath  and  bond." 


BOB    COVINGTON  151 

''Very  well,"  sighs  Martineau,  "if  you  insist  upon 
it,  Louise."  Then  he  says  sternly:  "  Only  I  warn  you, 
Mr.  Jarvis,  beware  how  you  treat  this — this  young  lady. 
Mr.  Covington  will  hold  you  answerable  for  her.  You 
know  how  he  loves  her." 

"Yes;  answerable  that  she  doesn't  get  away,"  re- 
torts the  other,  "  and  of  that  I  shall  take  mighty  good 
care,  but  in  a  way  that  will  bring  no  open  scandal. 
She  will  be  at  her  own  home.  She  will  live  as  she  has 
lived;  only,  in  the  interests  of  my  client  I  shall  see 
that  she  shall  not  escape  to  Paris,  as  you  would  have 
aided  her  to  do." 

Then  the  necessary  agreement  being  drawn  up,  and 
Mr.  Jarvis  having  signed  the  same  and  satisfied  Mar- 
tineau that  he  will  not  communicate  with  his  client,  the 
girl  rises,  an  unnatural  calmness  in  her  voice  and 
manner,  and  says :  •'  Mr.  Jarvis — I  believe  that  is  your 
name — I  am  at  your  disposal." 

"To  hold  as  a  slave  of  my  client,  by  my  power  of 
attorney." 

And  the  iron  enters  into  the  girl's  soul.  She  bows 
her  head  and  does  not  answer. 

And  now  one  of  the  conditions  of  servitude  comes 
to  this  refined  creature,  who  is  from  the  moment  no 
more  her  own  mistress.  Mr.  Jarvis  remarks :  "  I  will 
not  be  able  to  make  the  arrangements  I  wish  for  you 
for  half  or  three-quarters  of  an  hour.  Please  step  into 
the  back  office  while  I  transact  some  other  business 
with  Monsieur  Martineau."  He  leads  the  way,  and 
Louise,  following  him,  sits  down  in  the  retiring  room, 
but  shudders  a  little  as  she  sees  Kitson  turn  the  key  in 
the  door  leading  to  the  hallway,  so  she  cannot  pass 
out  without  coming  through  the  private  office,  in  which 
he  will  be. 

"You'll  excuse  me,"  says  her  captor,  pocketing  the 
key,  "but  I  have  a  duty  to  my  client." 

"  Oh,  he  will  thank  you  for  it,"  gasps  the  girl.  "Mr. 
Covington  will  thank  you  for  it." 

"I  have  no  doubt  he  will!  "  remarks  the  attorney, 
going  out  without  closing  the  door.  Then,  as  Louise 
sits  there,  another  little  pang — though  she  feels  it 
slightly,  she  has  suffered  so  much — comes  to  her;  she 


153  BOB    COVINGTON 

notices  the  two  lawyers  do  not  seem  to  mind  whether 
she  hears  their  conversation,  and  she  shudders.  "I 
am  becoming  a  thing — something  they  don't  regard  as 
a  human  being." 

For  they  are  talking  to  each  other  about  the  Tournay 
property,  and  Martineau  is  explaining  that  he  has 
sixty  thousand  dollars  in  the  Bank  of  Louisiana  and  the 
Citizens'  Bank  to  the  credit  of  the  estate,  and  showing 
how  he  has  nursed  the  finances  and  has  paid  out  as 
little  as  possible. 

"But  your  keeping  it  from  the  rightful  heir," 
chuckles  Kitson,  who  is  in  exuberant  humor,  "has 
been  a  pretty  plum  for  yours  truly." 

"As  trustee  of  the  estate,"  says  the  old  attorney, 
formally  but  politely,  "  I  beg  to  remind  you  that  it  is 
not  my  business  to  find  claimants  for  it.  It  is  only  my 
duty  to  keep  the  property  intact." 

"Yes ;  I  see  you've  done  that  very  well.  So  if  you'll 
simply  give  me  an  order  to  the  officers  of  the  banks 
saying  the  moneys  can't  be  drawn  out  without  our  joint 
check — or,  if  you  object  to  that,  your  check  with  Mr. 
Covington's  signature  attached,  I  am  satisfied." 

To  this  the  Creole  attorney,  looking  at  his  brother 
of  the  law,  says  sharply:  "I  shall  turn  over  no  money 
until  Mr.  Covington  arrives,  though  I  am  perfectly 
willing  to  give  you  a  stipulation  agreeing  that  the  bank 
accounts  of  the  Tournay  estate  shall  remain  intact 
until  I  personally  have  word  with  your  client; 
otherwise  you  must  obtain  an  order  from  some 
judge  in  chambers  for  me  to  make  accounting." 

"That  course  you  know  I  won't  take,"  remarks 
Kitson. 

"Yes,"  sneers  Martineau,  "the  servitude  of  that 
beautiful  creature  would  make  every  man  in  New 
Orleans  turn  his  back  upon  you." 

"Well,  the  law  wouldn't,  and  I'm  only  doing  the 
square  thing  by  my  client.  However,  it's  all  right. 
Give  me  the  stipulation.  Two  or  three  weeks  more 
doesn't  make  any  difference  in  this  matter.  And  while 
you  are  writing,  just  let  me  send  this  note;  it's  in  a 
hurry !"  Then  Jarvis,  who  has  been  scribbling  rapidly, 
says  to  the  servant  whom  Martineau  has  summoned : 


BOB    COVINGTON  1 53 

"Tell  the  Tournay  coachman  to  drive  with  a  rush 
round  to  this  address  and  bring  back  with  him  the 
lady  to  whom  this  letter  is  directed." 

As  the  wheels  of  the  carriage  rumble  over  the  pave- 
ment, Mr.  Covington's  attorney  goes  merrily  to  work 
again,  running  through  the  details  of  property  real 
and  personal,  the  number  of  negroes  on  the  planta- 
tions, the  list  of  house-servants  in  New  Orleans,  add- 
ing to  this  last  another  name:  "Louise,  seamstress." 
"  I  reckon  I'd  better  put  her  that  way,"  he  chuckles. 

Then  he  discusses  with  the  trustee  of  the  estate, 
other  things  that  seem  to  please  Jarvis  very  greatly  — 
money  matters,  bonds,  mortgages  and  growing  crops. 

All  this  seems  a  hum  to  the  girl's  ears  as  she  sits 
drearily  in  the  next  room.  She  hardly  notes  it;  shock 
and  suffering  have  stunned  her. 

Once  though,  she  springs  up,  and  would  stride  to  the 
door,  with  blazing  eyes.  Jarvis  is  saying:  "What  do 
you  reckon  is  the  market  value  of  Louise?  Twenty- 
five  hundred  dollars?  You  know  I  receive  ten  per  cent, 
commission." 

But  the  attorney's  quick  ears  have  caught  her  light 
step;  he  comes  to  the  door  and  says  sharply:  "Sit 
down!  I  am  not  ready  for  you  yet."  And  she,  obey- 
ing him,  wonders  if  this  is  not  all  a  nightmare  from 
which  she  must  soon  awake — awake  and  be  happy. 

Suddenly  there  is  a  rattle  of  horses'   hoofs  outside. 

A  moment  after,  the  servant  coming  in  says :  l '  Dere's 
a  lady  to  see  Mistah  Jarvis." 

"Yes;  very  well!  Tell  her  I  will  speak  to  her  in  a 
minute."  Then  turning  to  Martineau,  he  whispers:  "I 
want  you  to  see  that  I  do  everything  properly  and 
genteelly.  These  are  simply  my  precautions  in  regard 
to  the  girl  you  were  going  to  run  off." 

The  next  moment  Kitson,  stepping  into  the  outer 
office,  goes  into  conversation  with  a  woman  of  de- 
termined face  and  medium  height,  but  figure  square 
and  strongly  built,  her  age  about  thirty.  She  answers 
to  the  name  of  Mrs.  Hannah  Combes.  She  is  steward- 
ess of  a  river  steamboat,  but  at  present  is  enjoying  a 
run  on  shore:  as  such,  Mr.  Jarvis  has  known  her  to  be 
absolutely  honest,  reliable,  and   perfectly   capable   of 


154  BOB    COVINGTON 

carrying  out  the  instructions  he  gives  her.  She  has 
also  been  matron  of  an  industrial  school  for  girls.  .  To 
this  woman  he  explains  her  duties,  .her  authority  and 
power,  very  carefully  and  very  accurately,  ending  by 
saying:   "  You  think  you  understand  me?  " 

"Thoroughly!  If  the  terms  are  right  the  person 
placed  in  my  charge  will  receive  my  whole  attention. 
I  will  be  answerable." 

The  woman's  wages  being  settled,  Mr.  Jarvis  says  to 
Martineau,  who  is  still  looking  at  his  accounts,  though 
his  eyes  are  too  dim  to  read :  '!  Now  this  is  what  I  pro- 
pose. All  I  want  is  to  know  that  when  my  client  ar- 
rives in  New  Orleans,  the  estate  will  be  intact.  For 
this  purpose  I  have  engaged  Mrs.  Combes,  who  is  abso- 
lutely reliable,  to  take  the  place  of  Miss  Tournay's 
maid  whom  you  mentioned  was  upstairs  when  you 
gave  me  the  schedules  of  the  house-servants.  This 
mulatto  gal,  I  have  no  doubt,  like  most  of  her  race, 
has  a  tongue  in  her  head.  Neither  you,  nor  I,  nor 
Mr.  Covington  care  particularly  for  this  affair  to  be 
noised  about,  and  I  think  it  wise  for  Lorena  to  be 
returned  to  the  plantation  Beau  Rivage,  there  to  re- 
main for  the  present  at  least.  The  person  I  have  en- 
gaged will  take  her  place,  and  be  known  as  Miss 
Tournay's  maid.  I  have  given  her  authority  over  her 
charge  amply  sufficient  to  prevent  any  evasion  or  flight. 
She  had  better  return  with  Louise  in  the  place  of 
Lorena,  whom,  if  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  send  to 
Assumption,  you  will  confer  a  favor,  I  know,  upon 
my  client,  Mr.  Covington." 

To  this  Martineau  cries  impulsively:  "I  offer  you  a 
personal  bond  for  ten  thousand  dollars  that  Louise  re- 
mains here  till  she  sees  him." 

' '  Could  you  give  me  a  bond  she  might  not  make 
away  with  herself?"  answers  Jarvis,  impressively. 
"  Louise  knows  according  to  the  laws  here  she  cannot 
marry  him — that  thought  may  make  her  desperate.  I 
won't  take  the  risk!  I  know  my  client  values  that  girl 
like  thunder! — I  have  seen  the  way  he  looked  at  her.  I 
won't  take  any  bond  whatsoever,  and  that  settles  it." 

This  suggestion  startles  Martineau.  What  may  the 
agonized  girl  not  do  in  some  wild  frenzy,  some  sudden 


BOB    COVINGTON  155 

desperation?      "Perhaps    it   is    best,"    he    murmurs. 

And  Mr.  Kitson,  stepping  to  the  door  of  the  third 
room,  says:   "  Louise — come  here!" 

Addressed  thus,  by  this  man  who  has  never  spoken 
to  her  before  this  night;  this  commonplace  calling  of 
her  first  name  smites  the  captive  even  as  if  it  were  a 
blow;  but  she  rises  and  coming  to  him  answers  quietly: 
'  I  have  placed  myself  in  your  hands.  What  do  you 
wish?" 

"I  shall  send  you  home  this  evening  with  a  lady  who 
will  appear  to  act  as  your  maid,  but  really  will  boss  you 
— that's  all — a  lady  to  whose  authority  you  must  sub- 
mit yourself.  She  will  dominate  your  actions  suffi- 
ciently to  insure  your  not  escaping  until  I  can  place 
you  in  my  client's  hands.  I  shall  probably  not  see  you 
until  Mr.  Covington  arrives,  provided  you  are  subser- 
vient to  her  control." 

"  Yes;  I  would  prefer  never  to  see  you  again,  Mr. 
Jarvis,"  falters  the  girl.  "  Not  that  I  think  you  have 
been  more  unkind  than — than  the  very  innate  cruelty 
of  your  mission  compels  you  to;  but  your  face  will 
always  be  in  my  mind  as  the  most  cruel,  cruel  thing 
this  earth  has  shown  to  me. "  And  the  tears  start 
from  her  eyes.  But  dashing  these  away  with  her  hand 
she  bravely  mutters:  "  I  will  go;  only — only  let  me 
get  my  hat  on." 

Here  Mr.  Jarvis  calls:  "  Mrs.  Combes,  please  come 
to  me !  "  and  the  woman  joining  him,  he  says :  '  -  Louise, 
this  is  the  lady  who  will  act  as  your  maid,  see  to  your 
comfort  and  safety,  and  control  you." 

To  this  Mrs.  Combes,  seeming  to  know  her  business 
very  well,  adds:  "Let  me  help  you  with  your  dress!  " 
And,  pinning  the  dainty  bonnet  on  the  girl's  head,  she 
buttons  Louise's  jacket  carefully  up,  the  night  being 
slightly  damp  and  misty. 

She  is  about  to  lead  her  forth  when  Martineau, 
suddenly  rising,  comes  to  Jarvis  and  says :  "  Permit  me 
a  few  words  with  Miss  Louise!" 

His  tone  is  so  imperative  that  Kitson  replies:  "  Cer- 
tainly!" 

He  and  Mrs.  Combes  walk  to  the  outer  office,  near 
the  door  of  which  they  stand  waiting  for  their  charge, 


156  BOB    COVINGTON 

to  whom  Martineau  is  saying,  in  low  voice:  "  FT  ad  you 
not  sacrificed  yourself,  I  might  have  put  off  this  evil 
hour." 

"But  only  for  a  day  or  two,"  murmurs  the  girl, 
"and  by  it  I  have  saved  Nita. " 

"Perhaps!  "  replies  the  avocat;  then  goes  on,  sav- 
agely:  "  If  Jarvis  doesn't  keep  his  convention  with  me 

in  regard    to    your   sister,    I  will "  but  he  checks 

himself  here  and  whispers  very  sadly,  with  tears  of 
pity  in  his  eyes:  "I  pray  God  the  young  man  who 
holds  your  fate  in  his  hands,  my  poor  child,  may  be 
very  wise  and  very  noble,"  then  sinks  down  at  his  desk, 
sighing  deeply. 

A  moment  after,  there  is  the  noise  of  wheels  outside; 
the  patter  of  horses'  hoofs  dies  away,  and  the  avocat 
murmurs  to  himself:   "  God  help  her!     In  extremis  /" 


CHAPTER   XV. 

IN     EXTREMIS. 

Noting  that  Martineau  has  gone  back  to  his  desk, 
Mrs.  Combes  raises  her  voice  and  says  incisively: 
"Louise,  come  here!" 

A  moment  later,  followed  by  Kitson  and  her 
directress,  the  girl,  though  her  limbs  tremble  a  little, 
contrives  to  walk  quite  firmly  down  the  steps  leading 
to  the  street,  and  from  the  very  force  of  habit  stands, 
as  mistress  of  the  equipage,  waiting  for  the  others  to 
enter  the  carriage  in  advance  of  her. 

From  this  pose  she  is  sharply  aroused  by  Hannah's 
saying:   "  Step  in  at  once!" 

A  second  later  the  gouvernante  sits  beside  her  sub- 
ject, and  Louise  suddenly  hears  Jarvis  say  to  the 
driver:   "Home  quick!" 

Almost  at  the  same  moment  Mrs.  Combes  promptly 
whispers:  "  Give  me  your  hand,"  and  Louise  finds  her 
wrist  taken  and  very  firmly  held  by  strong  and  nervous 
fingers. 

A  few  moments  after,  as  they  drive  across  Bourbon 


BOB    COVINGTON  157 

Street,  another  carriage,  with  ladies  in  light  evening 
dresses  and  accompanied  by  their  esquires,  passes  very 
close  to  them.  From  it  come  light  laughter  and  careless 
words.  One  of  its  occupants  is  babbling:  "It's  a  pity 
Monsieur  La  Farge  and  young  Mr.  Covington  will  not 
be  present  at  the  fete." 

1 '  Yes, "  adds  another.  ' '  The  reckless  fellows  killed 
some  one  in  a  duel  this  morning." 

At  this,  Louise  starts  up,  shuddering  and  moaning. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  whispers  her 
startled  monitress,  for  the  captive  has  been  very  quiet 
until  now. 

"I — I  was  going  to  that  ball  to-night — to  dance 
with  the  man  of  my  heart — and  now,  what  am  I?  " 
gasps  the  tortured  girl,  and  wrings  her  hands  and  sobs 
so  bitterly  that  a  little  pity  comes  into  the  heart  of  the 
woman  beside  her,  as  she  says:  "That's  right! 
Tears'll  do  you  good.  Anything  is  better  than 
moping." 

On  reaching  the  Tournay  residence,  Hannah 
Combes  steps  out  first,  and  then  assists  her  charge  to 
alight.  Together,  they  go  up  to  the  salo?i,  where,  the 
night  before,  this  girl  had  been  clasped  in  lover's 
arms,  and  Mrs.  Joyce,  meeting  them,  sees  that  the 
blow  has  fallen.     She  gasps:     "You  know?" 

"Yes — in  all  its  horror,  present  and — to  come!" 
shudders  Louise;  then  chancing  to  see  in  the  apart- 
ment some  articles  that  have  been  sent  to  her  from 
modistes — things  pertaining  to  her  nuptial  trousseau-^ 
things  that  drive  her  frantic — this  tortured  one  throws 
herself  into  Pamela's  arms  and  sobs  as  if  her  heart 
would  break. 

Upon  this  scene  her  attendant  does  not  immediately 
intrude,  but  after  some  ten  minutes,  enters  and  says 
firmly:  "I  think  it  well,  Louise,  you  should  retire  for 
this  evening." 

And  Mrs.  Joyce  looking  at  the  woman  with  inquir- 
ing eyes,  Miss  Tournay  falters:  "  Pamela,  this  is  Mrs. 
Combes — I  think  that  is  the  name — who  will  act  as  my 
maid  and  my — my  keeper — that's  what  it  is! — that's 
what  it  means  ! — until  Mr.  Covington  comes,  if  I  have 
the  heart  to  remain  alive  until  that  day." 


158  BOB    COVINGTON 

"It  shall  be  my  care  to  see  that  you  do  remain 
alive!"  remarks  Hannah  with  significant  determina- 
tion. 

But  the  girl  breaks  from  her  and  runs  to  her  cham- 
ber, where  she  goes  about  wringing  her  hands  and 
shuddering:  "  Slave  of  the  man  1  was  to  marry !  This 
will  break  my  heart!    My  God !  will  it  break  his  also?  " 

But  to  Louise's  astonishment  she  finds  that  this 
woman  who  has  accompanied  her,  soothes  her  and  is 
tender  to  her  and  says:  "Poor  thing!  Cheer  up!" 
and  gives  her  something  that  makes  her  sleep;  for 
among  other  avocations — and  she's  had  a  good 
many — Hannah  Combes  has  once  been  a  hospital 
nurse. 

A  few  minutes  after,  Miss  Tournay's  gouvernante  re- 
turn s»to  the  little  salon  and  explains  exactly  how  mat- 
ters stand  to  the  prim  schoolmistress,  who  has  an  as 
tounded  look  upon  her  face. 

"Monsieur  Martineau  knows  of  this  ? "  asks  Pamela 
anxiously  and  sternly. 

"  Of  my  control  of  the  girl  Louise  ?  Yes!  I  brought 
her  direct  from  his  office." 

A  few  minutes  after,  a  note  arrives  from  the  avocat, 
reciting  to  Mrs.  Joyce  the  facts  and  ending  with  "I 
pray  you  to  remain  with  Louise  until  Mr.  Covington 
returns.  Do  what  you  can  to  cheer  her — to  make  her 
forget  the  sad  fate  that  has  come  upon  her." 

This  being  shown  to  Mrs.  Combes,  she  says:  "  You 
see  the  house  will  be  in  my  charge,  under  the  control 
of  Mr.  Jarvis.  But  you  can  do  a  great  deal  to  help 
me,  in  preventing  this  shock  producing  a  brain  fever 
in  my  ward.     Louise  plays  and  sings  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Encourage  her  to  do  so,  and  let  her  dwell  as  little 
as  she  can  on — on  her  master.  She  has  a  romantic 
affection  for  him,  I  understand.  Now,  good  night — for 
I  have  lots  to  do.  My  trunk  will  arrive  very  shortly; 
would  you  kindly  order  it  up  to  my  rooms  ?  " 

With  these  words  Hannah  goes  away,  and  coming  to 
her  charge,  who  is  sleeping,  though  uneasily,  this  woman 
mutters:  "My  laws!  No  wonder  they  value  her!  She's 
the  prettiest  thing  I  ever  saw!  "     Then  looking  at  the. 


BOB    COVINGTON  159 

delicate,  transparent  complexion,  and  ivory  whiteness 
of  her  ward's  shoulders  and  arms,  she  mutters:  "If 
there's  negro  blood  in  that  body,  Venus  was  a  Hotten- 
tot!— Nonsense! — But  that's  none  of  my  business!  I 
can  see  I'm  going  to  have  a  terrible  time;  she's  one 
of  the  kind  that  will  take  to  the  high  strikes  mighty 
easy." 

Mrs.  Combes's  prognostication  is  true.  The  next 
morning  there  is  a  terrible  awakening — an  awakening 
that  tells  of  despair. 

"Louise  rises  in  her  bed,  puts  both  hands  to  her  fair 
brow,  upon  which  some  dead  weight  seems  pressing, 
and  says  suddenly:  "  What  horrible  thing  happened  to 
me  last  night?"  then  looking  around  and  seeing  Hannah, 
she  screams:  "I  know!  My  Heaven — I  know  now! 
Bondmaid  to  the  man  I  love !  Slave  to  him  who  would 
have  been  the  husband  of  my  heart!"  And  springing 
up,  she  goes  striding  about  the  room  like  one  possessed, 
turning  upon  her  guardian  and  muttering :  ' '  Yes — yes ! 
The  woman — my  keeper — /  know  you  !  I  recollect  it 
all!  You  are  to  hold  me  in  bondage  and  alive  until  my 
master  comes!"  and  struggling  from  her,  will  allow  no 
change  of  toilet  from  the  light  night-robe  that  she 
wears. 

After  a  few  minutes,  however,  Louise  murmurs, 
sadly:  "But  I  must  live  until  I  see  Aim/"  and  in  thif 
thought  permits  herself  to  be  persuaded  to  take  a  cup 
of  coffee,  and  curiously  feels  stimulated  by  it,  our 
mental  depending  so  much  upon  our  physical  being. 
Then  very  shortly,  under  her  gouvernante's  deft  hands, 
Louise  finds  herself  dressed,  and  comes  to  breakfast  in 
a  way  that  wholly  astounds  and  partially  horrifies  Mrs. 
Joyce,  who  is  waiting  anxiously. 

For  this  girl  is  now  a  different  being  from  the  fairy 
maid  of  happy  yesterday — from  even  the  crushed 
and  broken  thing  who  had  sobbed  out  her  heart  in 
Mrs.  Joyce's  arms  last  night.  There  are  no  tears;  the 
beautiful  eyes  are  dark  with  despair,  but  shine  with 
haughty  pride.  Exquisite  archness  has  left  the  mobile 
face,  and  the  graceful  playfulness  on  the  sensitive  lips 
has  been  superseded  by  a  wild,  yet  piquant  sarcasm. 

Miss  Tournay  sweeps  in,  as  lovely  this  morning  as 
she  has  ever  looked. 


l6o  BOB    COVINGTON 

Dressed  in  a  light  morning  wrapper,  a  mass  of  lace, 
and  furbelows,  she  takes  her  place  at  the  head  of  the 
breakfast  table,  and  gives  her  orders  to  the  waiting 
maid  as  if  she  were  still  the  mistress  as  of  yore. 
Mrs.  Joyce  notes  also  that  Louise  answers  to  the  name 
"  Miss  Tournay,"  though  in  an  absent  manner;  for  in 
truth  the  appellation  seems  very  far  away  to  the  girl, 
back  in  the  hazy  past. 

Oftimes,  this  morning,  she  has  jeered  herself  by 
repeating  Mr.  Jarvis's  observation  of  the  night  before: 
"  You  are  not  Miss  Tournay  now;  you  are  the  slave- 
girl,  Louise." 

Under  the  circumstances,  the  conversation  is  dis- 
jointed— at  times  imbecile — they  even  talk  of  the 
weather!  Neither  Mrs.  Joyce  nor  the  young  lady  eat 
very  much. 

Soon,  the  maid  having  left  the  room,  Miss  Tournay 
rises  and  says:  "An  hour  at  the  piano!" 

"Why?"  asks  Pamela. 

"Why?  Because  I'm  ordered  by  my  gouvernante" 
breaks  out  Louise.  "Oh,  don't  think  Hannah  Combes 
— that's  her  name — has  not  her  eye  upon  me  every 
moment!  She  is  sitting  in  the  hall  there  now,  to  pre- 
vent escape.  Don't  I  know  the  meaning  of  this  dress  ? 
Look  at  this  bouffant  robe,  open  all  the  way  down  the 
front,  and  tied  only  by  a  girdle  at  the  waist!  See  how 
liberally  it  d  splays  the  short  under  petticoat — these 
thin. slippers  and  weblike  stockings."  The  girl  pokes 
out  a  little  foot  piquantly  and  jeers:  "This  half  un- 
dress is  to  prevent  my  running  in  the  street  to  flit 
away!  Lace  fetters — butterfly  chains  !"  Then  con- 
tinues in  sad  tones:  "It  is  not  she  who  keeps  me  here 
to  await  the  man  I  yesterday,  as  his  affianced,  kissed 
farewell ;  it  is  my  love  and  trust  in  him !  But,  o-o-h — 
I  pray,  God,  I  love  him  not  too  much !  That  thought 
makes  me  fear — that  dread  makes  me  want  to  hide 
myself  from  him!  But  how? — where?"  Then  she  looks 
round,  despairingly,  and  whispers:  "The  woman  has 
taken  everything  from  me — money,  jewelry — even  my 
engagement  ring!  But  what  matters  it?  The  law  will 
not  permit  us  to  wed — why  should  I  hold  the  symbol 
of  the  plighted  troth  of  my  master  ?     Oh  God !  "  and 


BOB    COVINGTON  l6l 

she  wrings  her  hands,  "How  happy  I  was  yesterday! 
— wedding  rings  and  wedding  bracelets — and  now — 
manacled  for  my  master  s  coming  !  That's  what  it  means ! 
But  I  must  play !  My  orders  from  my  gouvernante  are  to 
play  to  prevent  brain  fever." 

Then  she  goes  to  the  piano  and  bangs  it  in  a  wild, 
excited  way  that  makes  Parmela  shudder,  but  does  it 
for  an  hour. 

"I'm  going  to  Monsieur  Martineau's.  Have  you 
any  message  for  him?"  asks  the  ex-schoolmistress, 
who  has  remained,  anxiously  watching. 

"  No,  except  to  tell  him  to  see  that  Mr.  Jarvis  keeps 
his  word  about  that  telegram.  My  sister  must  not  expe- 
rience my  lot!  That  is  the  reason  I  made  no  defense. 
But  it  would  have  been  unavailing,"  and  Louise  whis- 
pers, with  white  face  and  set  lips :  ' '  Martineau  himself 
acknowledged  it !  He  has  the  bill  of  sale  of  my  mother 
for  fifteen  hundred  dollars  cash  and — two  bales  of  plug 
tobacco — and  six  bales  of  cotton!  O — o — o — hi  That 
brought  the  fact  that  I  was  merchandise  home  to  me. 
He  has  also  papers  drawn  up  for  my  manumission  and 
Nita's, — unsigned  by  a  sensitive  father,  who  could  not 
bear  to  brand  his  children  as  slaves,  yet  ?nade  them 
such  /  " 

Upon  this  rhapsody  of  despair  Mrs.  Combes  breaks 
in,  saying:  "  Louise,  calm  yourself — don't  be  foolish. 
You'll  make  yourself  ill!  " 

"What  are  your  orders,  Madame?  "asks  the  girl, 
and,  on  hearing  them,  she  sneers:  "Ah,  I  am  to 
have  a  drive  for  my  health! — fresh  air  to  keep  the 
chattel  personal  in  good  marketable  condition!  " 

So,  about  half  an  hour  afterward,  Louise  goes  out  to 
drive  in  the  close  carriage,  the  gouvernante  sitting  grimly 
beside  her,  though  trying  to  amuse  this  captive  of  Mr. 
Jarvis's  legal  bow  and  spear. 

Half  an  hour  after,  Mrs.  Joyce,  in  consultation  with 
Martineau,  tells  him  the  occurrences  of  the  morning, 
and  he  says :  ' '  Probably  it  is  well  for  her  she  has  some 
one  to  look  after  her.  God  knows  what  Louise  might 
do  in  her  despair!  We  must  bring  Covington  back; 
the  whole  issue  lies  in  his  nobility  or  vileness!  " 

Therefore  he  sends  a  telegram  to  meet  Bob  in  New 


162  BOB    COVINGTON 

York,  though  he  dares  not  say  more  for  Nita's  sake  than 

"  For  God's   sake    return.     Imperative    that    you    be  here 

quickly." 

Returning  from  this  visit  Pamela  finds  Miss  Tournay 
has  come  in  from  her  drive  in  an  awful  humor. 

Louise  is  striding  about  and  muttering:  "No  more 
upon  the  streets — for  me!  Every  person's  face  I  look 
at  tells  me  they  know  I  am  a  chattel!  " 

"Why,  it  was  only  your  beauty,  you  foolish  girl," 
laughs  Mrs.  Combes,  impatiently,  as  she  takes  off  her 
ward's  cloak  and  hat,  puts  her  in  negligee  house-garb 
and  locks  up  every  article  of  street  apparel.  In  truth, 
Hannah's  charge  has  worried  hergreatly  during  carriage 
exercise — having  at  times  haughty  airs  and  saying: 
"  Remember  you're  my  maid,  outside  my  chamber!  "and 
afterward,  perhaps  within  the  minute,  laughing: 
"What  are  your  commands,  Madam?"  or — jeering 
"  I  see  it  in  your  eye — chastisement  for  the  slave  girl 
who  does  not  bow  the  head." 

In  this  Louise  has  guessed  quite  closely.  Hannah, 
grimly,  once  or  twice  would  have  liked  to  have  had 
the  power,  for  Miss  Tournay  has  been  a  thorn  and  a 
vexation  unto  her.  But  the  woman  has  done  her  duty 
by  the  girl.  She  has  seen  there  has  been  no  chance  of 
her  charge's  evasion  or  escape,  and  further  than  that 
has  striven  to  her  utmost  to  keep  Louise  from  thinking 
of  her  lot;  for  that  purpose  assuming  authority  that 
perchance  has  been  a  sting  unto  her  charge.  For  a 
very  fiend  of  pride  has  sprung  up  in  this  captive's  soul, 
who  yesterday  was  susceptible  to  every  softening  in- 
fluence of  life  and  could  not  have  used  an  unkind  word 
to  even  her  own  careless  maid,  Lorena. 

So  the  day  goes  on,  and  it  is  a  long  one  for  poor 
Mrs.  Joyce  as  well  as  Mrs.  Combes,  Louise  even  bring- 
ing tears  to  dear  old  Pamela's  eyes  by  saying,  sarcas 
tically:  "Why  don't  you  go  away  from  here?  Do  you 
not  fear  companionship  with  a  girl  of  mixed  blood 
will  degrade  a  proud  Caucasian  Yankee  schoolmarm?  " 

"I  stay  with  you!  "  answers  Mrs.  Joyce,  sadly,  wip- 
ing her  dimmed  spectacles.  "I  stay  with  you!  Do 
you  think  I'd  desert  you  in  such  a  strait,  you  poor 
darling?  " 


BOB    COVINGTON  163 

But  the  girl  rises  at  this  and  cries,  hoarsely:  "No 
pity!  Besides" — here  she  suddenly  extends  her  ex- 
quisitely proportioned  arm,  white  as  the  driven  snow, 
and  asks:  "  Do  you  believe,  Pamela,  there  is  one  drop 
of  tainted  blood  within  those  veins?" 

"No!  "  cries  her  companion,  impulsively. 

"Ah!  so  glad  to  hear  that!  "  sneers  Louise,  bitterly. 
"Mr.  Covington,  my  master,  doesn't  admire  negro 
blood.  I've  often  heard  him  call  his  jabbering  Mr. 
Caesar  '  Nigger-brain ! '  and  '  Hottentot-tongue ! '  " 
Expressions  the  long-suffering  Bob  had  sometimes  used 
in  speaking  of  his  sable  valet.  Next  she  scoffs:  "  But 
perhaps  our  master  will  be  more  tender,  more  consid- 
erate of  my  feelings;  I  am  more  valuable  than  Mr. 
Caesar — I'm  scheduled  '  Louise,  seamstress,  twenty-five 
hundred  dollars!  '  " 

Then  suddenly  this  creature,  whose  emotions  lash 
her  to  despair,  cries:   "Here,  Mrs.  Combes!" 

And  that  alert  matron  coming  in,  she  queries: 
"You're  an  expert  in  valuing  human  flesh  and  blood; 
don't  you  think  I'm  worth  more  than  twenty-five  hun* 
dred  dollars  ?  In  the  auction  mart  I'd  be  called  a 
fancy  article!  "  With  this  she  strides  to  her  room,  fol- 
lowed both  by  Mrs.  Joyce  and  the  matron,  for  both  are 
mortally  afraid  their  charge  will  do  her  beautiful  sel* 
some  injury. 

"I've  got  my  patient  quieted  now!  "  whispers  Mrs. 
Combes  some  half  hour  afterward.  "I  had  to  give 
her  another  opiate.  Now,  I'll  put  it  plainly  to  you,  as 
I  want  your  assistance  and  advice.  If  this  thing  goes 
on,  I  must  have  some  way  of  controlling  these  frantic 
outbursts.  Can  you  give  me  a  hint  ?  Who  does  Louise 
love  best  in  the  world  ? " 

"Mr.  Covington,  I  think." 

"  Pshaw!  He's  the  trouble!  " 

"  Nita — her  sister!  "  cries  Mrs.  Joyce,  suddenly,  and 
is  almost  sorry  for  it. 

For  the  matron  says:  "Much  obliged!  I  guess 
you've  hit  it!  Nita  is  the  ticket!  "  and  goes  away  to 
consult  with  Mr.  Jarvis. 

The  next  day,  some  threat  Mrs.  Combes  has  used  in 
regard  to  her  school-girl  sister  in  New  York   tends  to 


1 64  BOB    COVINGTON 

make  Miss  Tournay  much  more  pliable.  She  takes  her 
carriage  exercise  without  a  murmur;  she  plays  with 
Mrs.  Joyce  by  the  hour  on  the  piano;  she  does  not 
even  scoff  at  her  fair  self,  and  explains  this  all  by  say- 
ing: "lam  waiting — waiting  to  see  that  my  sister's 
fate  shall  not  be  as  cruel  as  my  own  Were  it  not  for 
Nita,  I'd  end  it  all  quickly!  "  Then  the  tortured  one 
wrings  her  hands  and  mutters:  "But  no!  I  cannot! 
Hannah  always  has  her  eye  on  me.  I  must  live — live 
to  bring  happiness  and  joy  unto  my  master!  But  I  tell 
you,  Pamela  Joyce,  that  though  I  love  him — Heaven 
help  me! — as  much  now  as  ever! — as  my  master  he  shall 
not  so  much  as  touch  my  hand!  Oh,  there  are  rare 
times  coming  for  Mr.  Robert  Covington,  of  Lexington, 
Kentucky,  and  me,  his  bondmaid,  whom  he  left  as  his 
affianced  bride!  " 

So  things  go  on  until  the  next  Wednesday. 

The  previous  Saturday  the  great  race  has  taken 
place,  unheeded  by  Louise,  in  which  the  jockey  John 
has  won  his  freedom  by  riding  Lecomte  to  victory  over 
the  Kentucky  colt. 

Returning  from  her  Wednesday  drive,  Miss  Tournay 
comes  in  to  Mrs.  Joyce  and  laughs  uproariously  but  not 
merrily:  "  Pamela,  this  is  fun!  That  Combes  woman 
thinks  I'm  trying  to  escape.  See  how  nervously  Hannah 
goes  about  now!  A  man  stepped  up  to  our  carriage, 
while  she  was  out  of  it,  making  some  purchase  in  Canal 
Street,  and  said,  taking  off  his  hat  very  politely  to  this 
poor  chattel:  *  Miss  Tournay,  I  believe?  I  owe  you  some 
money;  shall  I  send  it  to  your  house?'  And  I,  embar- 
rassed by  this  sudden  address,  answered,  'Yes;  send  it 
anywhere  you  please.'  But  on  being  questioned  and 
•rated  by  my  keeper  for  having  held  secret  communica- 
tion with  some  agent  of  Martineau's  for  my  abduction, 
when  I  stated  what  had  happened,  she  took  the  liberty 
of  doubting  my  word.  Why  shouldn't  she?  Who  would 
believe  such  a  likely  story? 

"You  should  have  seen  Hannah's  look,"  Louise 
goes  on,  "as  the  horses  flew  and  she  rattled  me  home. 
Now,  both  doors  to  the  courtyard  are  bolted,  and  I — I 
am  to  be  locked  up  myself.  The  little  dressing-room 
will  be  my  cell;  it  has  no  windows,  only  a  high  sky- 
light from  which  I  can't  make  escape." 


JJOB    COVINGTON  165 

This,  to  Mrs.  Joyce's  horror,  proves  to  be  the  truth, 
for  Hannah,  coming  in,  says,  sharply:  "  Louise,  step 
with  me!"  And  the  girl,  putting  up  her  piquant  nose 
and  drawing  the  air  through  her  dilated,  clean-cut  nos- 
trils like  a  thoroughbred  under  curb,  goes  with  her. 

Half  an  hour  later,  passing  out  for  consultation  on 
this  matter  with  Mr.  Jarvis,  Mrs.  Combes  is  confron- 
ted at  the  street  door  by  a  man  who  says:  "  For  Miss 
Tournay,  from  Jobson  &  Johnson,"  handing,  to  the 
astonished  woman,  an  envelope  containing  bills  for  a 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  with  a  slip  marked:  "Le- 
comte,  60  to  90." 

Now  this  curious  incident  has  come  about  as  follows : 
Mr.  Covington,  ever  anxious  to  do  something  for  the 
girl  of  his  heart,  had  the  week  before  put  two  bets  for 
her,  paying  cash  for  both,  one  on  each  horse,  so  that 
his  sweetheart  must  apparently  win  any  way,  and  Job- 
son  &  Johnson,  not  finding  the  gentleman,  and  being 
square  sporting  people,  wished  to  make  immediate  set- 
tlement of  the  same,  and  so  had  forwarded  the  wager 
to  Miss  Tournay. 

Therefore  Louise,  after  an  hour's  incarceration, 
comes  back  to  Mrs.  Joyce,  and  says,  with  blazing 
eyes:  "  I  have  been  under  lock  and  key!  It  is  a  curious 
feeling  Pamela,  hearing  the  bolts  click  on  you  and  be- 
ing sealed  up  from  the  outside  world;  but  one 
which  I  should  get  used  to.  Am  I  not  always  in 
bondage  ? — fettered  by  law, — but  most  of  all  fettered 
by  my  love  ?  " 

And  Hannah  Combes  approaching,  with  some  words 
of  apology  for  having  doubted  her  statement,  Miss 
Tourney  says,  calmly:  "  I  do  not  blame  you.  It  was 
a  most  unlikely  story  that  I,  who  can  have  nothing  of 
my  own  by  law,  should  have  money  owing  to  me.  Pre- 
posterous! Bob's  love,  that  produced  it — is  also  preposter- 
ous!" then  falters,  brokenly:  "  And  that  is  the  simple 
truth — he  loves  me — that  is  my  agony  I  Each  day  my 
Bob's  generous  thought  for  me  brings  me  more 
misery!"  Suddenly  her  eyes  blaze  despairingly,  she 
screams  at  Mrs.  Combes:  "  Doesn't  each  morning  a 
boy  deposit  at  these  doors  a  gorgeous  bunch  of  orange 
blossoms  and  white  rose-buds,  to  tell  of  coming  nuptials 


1 66  BOB    COVINGTON 

that  shall  never  come  ?  Bouquets  you  dare  not  let  me 
see  for  fear  I shall  go  mad.  And  now  a  little  present 
that  his  generous  heart  wanted  to  *  make  me — some 
glove-money,  under  pretence  of  a  bet — has  given  to 
me  incarceration  !  So  it  must  always  be;  the  more  he 
adores  me,  the  greater  my  despair — growing  deeper 
the  nearer  he  comes  to  me.  For  then  there  will  be 
nothing,  except  to  bless  him  for  his  goodness  and  to 
die — that's   what  it   means!     For  I    will    not    take 

DEGRADATION  FROM  HIS  LOVE!" 

And  for  the  first  time  since  that  awful  evening  this 
tortured  girl  breaks  out  and  sobs  the  blue  eyes  almost 
from  out  her  head,  and  throws  herself  despairingly  on 
a  sofa  of  the  room,  as  the  two  women  look  at  her 
aghast;  but  Mrs.  Combes  whispers:  "It's  a  good  thing 
for  her!  If  she  had  held  in  much  longer  she'd  have 
gone  crazy." 

Seemingly  it  does  her  good.  After  this  Louise, 
though  she  goes  about  haughty  as  a  goddess  and  dis- 
dainful as  pride  itself,  does  not  now  have  the  rhapsodies 
of  despair  that  at  the  first  had  stricken  her  down. 

So  it  comes  to  pass  that  one  day,  nearly  two  weeks 
after,  Miss  Tournay,  sitting  in  her  chamber,  sud- 
denly hears  in  the  courtyard  a  voice — merry  and 
laughing,  but  one  that  makes  her  tremble  and  shudder, 
and  her  face  grow  white  with  a  strange  dread,  and  look- 
ing out,  the  girl  gives  forth  an  awful  cry:  "  My  God! 
Betrayed!  Nita — Nita  here!  Oh,  Mother  of  Misery ! 
My  sister  in  bondage  like  myself!" 

For  there  is  a  rustle  of  short  skirts  and  a  child  of 
about  thirteen  years  is  running  up  the  stairway  and 
laughing:  "Is  that  you,  dear  Mrs.  Joyce?  Cousin 
Bob  brought  me.  What  makes  you  look  so  white?  How 
is  Louise?  We  hear  she  is  sick;  is  she  better?  We've 
lots  to  tell  her!  " 

As  she  looks  on  this,  Louise  moans  to  herself:  "He 
must  have  known  !  This  man  of  my  heart — would  not 
let  one  of  us  escape!"  Then  a  moment  after,  she 
falters:  "No— no!  My  God!  My  Bob— I'll  not 
believe  until  I  look  into  your  honest  face  and  hear 
from  your  own  lips  that  you  have  lured  my  sister  to 
this  land  of  bondage,  to  make  us  both  your  thralls 
and  serfs!  " 


BOOK    III. 
How  He  Loved  Her* 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

"here's  another  of  the  happy  family." 

Ominous  evidences  on  this  point  come  to  the  captive 
very  soon. 

Louise  rises  and  falters:  "  Good  Heavens!  How  can 
I  tell  Nita?  I  haven't  the  strength,  but  still — I  must! 
Better  from  my  lips  than  another's!  "  With  this  she 
staggers  to  the  door  to  open  it  and  greet  the  coming 
bondmaid — her  sister. 

To  her  dismay,  the  door  is  locked  upon  the  outside, 
and  though  she  struggles  and  fights  and  tries  with  all 
her  strength  to  force  it  open — for  now  she  hears  Nita's 
voice  crying  in  childish  petulance — she  cannot  succeed, 
and  perforce  is  compelled  to  await  the  pleasure  of  her 
gouvernante. 

Tears  pour  down  her  cheeks  as  she  thinks:  "Not 
permitted  to  kiss  my  sister!  not  allowed  to  speak  to 
Nita,  when  I  have  not  seen  her  for  over  a  year !  Oh,  this 
is  bondage !  "  and  Louise  flies  about  the  chamber  like  a 
caged  bird  beating  at  the  bars. 

But  chancing  to  glance  out  on  the  court  yard,  the 
captive  pauses, — starts  and  looks  again,  then  sudden 
coldness  comes  in  all  her  limbs,  shudders  run  through 
her  trembling  frame  and  she  has  to  clutch  a  chair  to 
hold  herself  erect.  For  Mr.  Caesar,  Covington's  sable 
valet,  is  coming  in  at  the  archway  of  the  residence, 
and  with  him  are  men  bringing  not  only  her  sister's 
trunk   but   the   baggage   of  his   master! — hat-boxes, 


1 68  BOB    COVINGTON 

valises,  canes,  and  all  the  other  impedimenta  of  a  travel- 
ing dandy,  who  is  coming  to  his  house  and  home. 

A  moment  later,  these  are  all  taken  into  one  of  the 
lower  rooms,  the  mulatto  whisking  his  cane  and  tap- 
ping his  lacquered  boots  and  following  after  them  as  if 
he  had  reached  his  resting  place. 

"Oh,  Heavens!  He  is  coming  here  to  live!  He  has 
assumed  possession  of  his  house!  God  help  us  both  — 
hemust  have  known,  and  brought  my  sister  back  with 
him  to  bondage!"  And  Louise's  eyes  have  horror  in 
them  and  her  proud  head  droops. 

A  moment  after,  the  door  is  opened,  and  Mrs. 
Combes  confronts  Miss  Tournay. 

"  Let  me  pass!  "  says  the  girl.  "  I  want  to  see  my 
sister!  " 

' '  That's  impossible  —  you-  can't  see  her  now !  " 

"Why  not?  " 

"Why?  She  was  saucy  to  me,  and  I  locked  her  up. 
Besides  I've  got  to  get  you  ready  for  your  master's 
eye." 

Then,  Mr. — Mr  Covington  knows?" 

"  Why,  it  looks  as  if  he  knew  everything.  He  sends 
his  trunks  here — he's  in  consultation  with  the  lawyers 
— he  has  brought  that  minx  back  with  him.  It  looks 
as  if  he  knew." 

"And  Mrs.  Joyce  ?  "  falters  the  girl. 

"  I'm  with  you  here — I  don't  leave  this  house,"  ex- 
claims the  Yankee  schoolmarm  from  the  hall,  "  until  I 
give  that  cruel,  sneaking  brute  a  piece  of  my  mind!  " 
And  Pamela,  though  she  has  already  arrayed  herself 
for  the  street — for  it  is  evident  she  will  not  remain  under 
the  rooftree  of  this  villain-slaveholder — shakes  her  um- 
brella savagely,  and  strides  about  as  if  eager  to  express 
herself  to  the  scoundrel,  Covington. 

"  Now,"  says  Hannah,  "step this  way,  Louise;  I  am 
going  to  fix  you  up  right  smart  to  greet  your  boss." 

"Yes,"  cries  the  girl,  desperately.  "  Make  me  as 
beautiful  as  you  like — you  lady's  maid  to  a  slave!  " 

And  driven  frantic  by  misery,  Louise  jeers  with  bit- 
ing words  and  cutting  sarcasm,  the  woman  as  she  decks 
her,  until  Hannah  looks  at  her  grimly,  and  mutters: 
"Oh,  lawdy,  if  I  only  dared!  I'd  take  the  highfalutins 


BOB    COVINGTON  169 

out  of  your  proud  body !  I'd  smack  your  white  skin  till  ye 
knew  ye  were  no  better  than  a  field  hand,  and  kissed 
the  ground  I  walked  on!  " 

But  the  girl  pays  no  attention  to  the  mutterings  of 
the  woman  who  dresses  her.  There  is  but  one  thought 
in  her  heart:  "I  pray  God  I  maybe  lovely  in  his 
eyes !  I  pray  Heaven  I  may  be  fascinating  to  this  man 
who  calls  himself  my  master,  so  that  I  can  break  his 
cruel  heart — if#he  has  any." 

Under  Mrs.  Combes's  hands,  Louise  permits  herself 
to  be  robed  so  that  she  may  find  favor  in  her  owner's 
sight,  and  prepare  a  welcome  for  the  man  of  her  heart 
such  as  he  recks  not  of — nor  guesses  with  wildest 
guess — though  he  has  been  in  New  Orleans  these  two 
hours. 

For  this  is  what  has  happened  to  Bob  since  his  ar- 
rival in  New  York.  He  would  have  made  arrange- 
ments to  send  Nita  to  Paris,  but  on  his  appearance  at 
the  St.  Nicholas  Hotel  he  had  immediately  received 
Kitson's  telegram  signed  "Louise.0  Filled  with 
anxiety,  he  had  presented  his  letters  to  Miss  Martin  and 
obtained  her  permission  to  take  his  little  cousin  with 
him  to  New  Orleans.  While  making  preparations  to 
return,  comes  Martineau's  telegram.  This  hurries  his 
departure,  and  accompanied  by  Miss  Nita — a  teacher 
of  the  school  going  with  them  as  far  as  Pittsburgh — 
Mr.  Covington,  journeying  by  rail  through  Pennsyl- 
vania, places  his  pretty  charge  on  boat  upon  the  Ohio 
River. 

At  Cairo,  they  board  the  A.  L.  Shotwell,  and  come 
as  rapidly  down  to  New  Orleans  as  current,  steam,  and 
a  lightning-boat  will  bring  them.  During  this  trip,  Mr. 
Covington  treating  the  child  of  thirteen  with  the  defer- 
ence he  would  give  a  young  lady  of  more  advanced 
years,  and  with' the  impulsive  generosity  of  his  Western 
nature  showering  bonbons  upon  her  and  pretty  things 
to  make  her  journey  pleasant,  Bob  and  his  cousin  Nita 
become  the  greatest  of  friends. 

But,  all  the  trip,  the  little  lady  wonders  what  makes  the 
big  fellow,  as  he  paces  the  deck  of  the  great  steamboat, 
sigh  so  deeply.  For  these  telegrams  have  given  him 
an  awful  anxiety  for  the  loved  one  of  his  heart,  and  he  is 


170  BOB    COVINGTON 

counting  each  revolution  of  the  mighty  wheel,  and  each 
high-pressure-toot  of  steam  as  theyvsweep  past  island, 
and  point,  and  snag,  and  river  town,  until  one  fine 
morning,  the  great  crescent  of  steamboats  alo  g  the 
levee  comes  into  view,  and  the  A.  Z.  ShotwelVs  lines 
are  cast  ashore  in  New  Orleans. 

The  gang  plank  is  no  sooner  over  than  Covington, 
eager  to  learn  of  his  sweetheart's  welfare,  springs  off 
the  boat.  Almost  immediately  on  landing  he  finds 
himself  approached  by  a  policeman  who  chances  to 
know  him  by  sight.  This  man  says  very  respectfully: 
"  There's  a  warrant  out  for  your  arrest,  on  that  Dela- 
borde  duel.     You're  my  prisoner,  sir." 

"Oh  that's  all  right,"  remarks  Bob.  "  I  expected 
it.  I'll  go  with  you  immediately;  you're  only  doing 
your  duty;  but  just  let  me  make  a  few  arrangements. 
Here  Caesar!  "  he  cries. 

"Yessah!" 

"Take  Miss  Nita  home  to  the  Tournay  residence  and 
get  yourself  and  my  baggage  on  to  the  Verandah !  I'll 
be  after  you  very  shortly." 

"Get  yo'  baggage  onto  de  veranda?  "  says  the  black 
scratching  his  oily  wool. 

"  Certainly !  That's  what  I  said — and  be  quick  about 
it,"  shouts  Covington,  as  he  steps  on  the  boat  to  bring 
his  charge  on  shore. 

Bob  does  not  dare  to  tell  his  valet  why  he  is  de- 
tained, fearing  the  knowledge  of  his  arrest,  as  mag- 
nified and  embellished  by  Mr.  Caesar's  vivid  imagina- 
tion and  love  for  sensation,  may  cause  Miss  Tournay 
uneasiness  on  his  account. 

A  moment  later,  Miss  Nita  trips  along  the  gangplank 
and  is  assisted  by  her  cousin  into  a  carriage.  Here 
she  pouts  her  pretty  lips  and  says:  "  Not  coming  with 
me,  Cousin  Bob?  Louise  will  be  expecting  you!"  then 
laughs:  "And  you  pretended  to  be  so  anxious  about 
her." 

"As  I  am!  Tell  her  I'll  be  with  her  almost  within 
the  hour.  Tell  her  that  unexpected  business  of  mo- 
ment keeps  me  from  her — that  it's  impossible  for  me  to 
see  her  just  at  present" 

"  Very  well.     Au  revoirl    I'll  tell  Louise  what  a  fine 


BOB    COVINGTON  171 

cavalier  you've  been  to  me  on  the  trip!  I'll  sing  your 
praises,  Cousin  Bob,  until  you  come  to  toot  your  own 
horn.  That's  the  way  you  express  it,  I  believe. "  And 
the  child,  using  one  of  his  own  phrases,  smiles  at  him 
very  sweetly  as  she  is  driven  away,  Mr.  Caesar  sitting 
on  the  box,  surrounded  by  the  baggage. 

But  Nita,  who.  is  a  dark-eyed  witch,  of  piquant  face, 
quick  temper  and  loving  heart,  has  no  time  to  sing  the 
praises  of  this  gentleman,  who  has  obtained  a  very 
warm  place  in  her  heart  by  his  attentions  of  the  journey. 
On  arrival  at  the  Tournay  mansion  and  encountering 
Mrs.  Joyce,  that  lady  on  seeing  the  child  has  burst  out 
into  vituperation  of  Cousin  Bob,  saying:  "Good 
Heavens!  You  must  not  see  your  sister! — this  will 
break  her  heart!  The  coward-villain — the  sneaking 
slave-owner!  " 

"Break  whose  heart?  What  coward-villain?"  asks 
Nita;  then  suddenly  says:  "Louise?  you  mean  her 
heart?  What  do  you  mean?  I  never  could  understand 
you  at  school  in  my  lessons!    What  do  you  mean? " 

"I  mean,  you  .foolish  child,  that  your  coming  will 
strike  down  your  sister  who  loves  you!  She  has  made 
for  you  such  sacrifice  as  sister  never  made  before — her 
own  liberty,  to  keep  you  from  being  enslaved — en- 
slaved by  this  cousin  of  yours,  who  has  sneakingly 
brought  you  from  New  York  to  make  you  his  bond- 
maid;  I  mean  that  you,  Nita,  are  one  of  his  slaves!" 

"Slaves?  Rubbish!"  cries  the  child.  "Why,  you 
crazy  old  abolitionist,  what  are  you  driving  at?  My 
Cousin  Bob  has  sickened  me  with  b  nbons,  and  treated 
me  as  if  I  were  a  princess  in  a  fairy  book! — I'm  Cousin 
Bob's  slave?     Why,  you  are  crazy!  " 

"Sometimes  I  think  I  am — sometimes  I  think  I 
should  be — that  such  injustice  should  exist  upon  this 
earth  You  poor  lamb,  you  don't  know  what  you're 
talking  about.  You  are  Mr.  Covington's  slave,  I  tell 
you!  I'll  save  Louise  the  agony  of  doing  it.  You  be- 
long to  Mr.  Covington- — can't  you  understand  that? 
Your  mother  was  a  slave  before  you;  you  have  not 
been  manumitted,*  he  is  the  heir  to  your  estate — to  the 
Tournay  estate — and  you  and  your  sister  are  part  of 
it.     That  scoundrel  lured  you  here  so  that  you  may  be 


172  BOB    COVINGTON 

more  fully  in  his  hands — you  poor  little  manacled 
girl!" 

But  the  little  manacled  girl,  growing  very  savage  at 
such  remarks,  inserts  her  tiny  tongue  into  the  hollow 
of  her  pretty  cheek,  hits  it  a  deft  smack  with  school- 
girl hand,  and  making  saucy  report  of  bursting  toy 
balloon,  cries  out:  "  Nixy,  you  idiot!  You  don't  know 
what  you're  talking  about!" 

But  suddenly  this  is  broken  in  upon  by  a  stern  voice 
saying:  "Here!  Quit  your  noise!"  and  Hannah 
Combes  stamps  her  foot.      "You're  Nita?" 

"I'm  Miss  Nita  Tournay!  What  do  you  want 
with  me?  What  do  you  mean  by  flying  at  me,  you  old 
thing!  " 

"What  do  I  mean?"  cries  Hannah.  "I  mean  that 
I'm  mistress  of  this  house  at  present.  I  take  charge 
of  you,  as  well  as  your  sister — /know my  duty.  Come 
with  me,  you  slave  brat!"  For  Mrs.  Combes  for  three 
weeks  has  been  bottled  up,  and  now  noting  the  arrival 
of  Mr.  Covington's  baggage  in  the  house,  and  that  he 
has  brought  back  another  bondmaid,  thinks  she  will 
have  it  all  within  her  hands. 

"Slave  brat!"  cries  the  outraged  child,  "what  do 
you  mean — you  old  ape  ?" 

Here  suddenly  Nita  discovers  what  Mrs.  Combes  does 
mean.  Despite  her  tears,  entreaties,  struggles,  she  is 
rushed  by  this  lady  to  a  vacant  room  and  put  under 
lock  and  key,  that  matron  grimly  determining  on  an 
awful  vengeance  for  the  saucy  words  as  soon  as  she 
has  time  to  work  her  will. 

But  at  present  Hannah  has  a  duty  to  perform.  She 
has  received  instructions  from  Mr.  Jarvis  that  on  Mr. 
Covington's  arrival,  Louise  must  look  her  very  best  to 
greet  her  coming  master. 

Bob  has  taken  cab  with  the  officer  who  has  made  the 
arrest  and  gone  to  the  Court  House. 

From  there  he  sends  a  hurried  massage  to  Martineau, 
thinking:  "While  he  arranges  my  bail  I'll  hear  from 
him  news  of  my  sweetheart.  By  this  time  he  must 
know  we're  engaged." 

Soon  after, the  avocai  coming  to  him,  the  Kentuckian, 


BOB    COVINGTON  173 

hardly  waiting  for  greeting,  says  hurriedly:  "  In  New 
York  I  received  a  telegram  from  Miss  Tournay,  stating 
she  was  ill.     How  is  she  now  ?" 

"She  is,  I  think,  as  well  as  can  be  expected,"  an- 
swers the  Creole,  slowly. 

But  there  is  something  in  his  voice  that  makes  Bob 
whisper:   "  You — you  mean  she  is  very  ill  ?" 

"No;  I  think  she  is  in  reasonable  health.  I  have 
not  seen  Louise  for  some  week  or  two,"  returns  Mar- 
tineau.  Then  he  asks,  suddenly  and  anxiously:  "  You 
received  a  telegram  from  her — Mr.  Covington  ?" 

"Yes;  asking  me  to  bring  Nita  with  me." 

"You— you  did  it?" 

"Certainly!  Her  sister  was  pick;  Nita  should  be 
with  her.  Less  t4ian  an  hour  ago  I  sent  the  child  up 
to  the  Tournay  house  under  charge  of  Mr.  Caesar. 
Now  bail  me  as  quickly  as  possible,  so  I  may  go  there 
myself!  It  doesn't  seem  to  me»  you've  given  much 
attention  to  my  fiancee  during  my  absence.  I  presume 
Louise  told  you  that  next  month  she  becomes  Mrs. 
Covington,"  returns  Bob,  by  no  means  pleased  at  the 
lack  of  interest  the  avocat  apparently  has  taken  in  his 
sweetheart  and  her  coming  nuptials.  "  Still,  she  can't 
be  very  ill,"  he  reasons,  and  stands  impatient  while 
the  bail  bond  is  made  out. 

It  is  not  for  any  excessive  amount,  and  Martineau 
informs  his  client,  as  they  leave  the  court-room,  that 
the  affair  need  cause  him  no  great  anxiety.* 

"Oh!  I  have  another  that  causes  me  much  more — 
the  health  of  the  woman  I  love!  "  says  Bob,  and  call- 
ing a  cab,  directs  the  driver  to  the  Tournay  residence. 

But  Martineau,  as  they  are  about  to  step  in,  whisp- 
ers:  "No — to  my  office  first !   I'll  explain  as  we  drive  " 

"All  right!  "  says  Covington,  hurriedly.  "I'll  drop 
you  there — but  for  me,  a  sight  of  my  darling!"  In 
the  cab  he  cries:  "  No  legal  business  for  me  to-day! 
Woods-afire!  haven't  I  a  claim  for  two  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  dollars  in  another  lawyer's  hands,  and 

*  The  law  of  Louisiana  against  dueling  of  1848  had  been  re- 
pealed  in  1854,  and  the  much  more  severe  enactment  of  1856, 
of  course,  had  not  as  yet  been  passed  by  the  Louisiana  Legisla- 
ture.— Ed. 


174  BOB    COVINGTON 

do  I  run  after  him  to  learn  if  he  has  bagged  it?     Dau- 
phine  Street  and  Louise's  sweet  face  for  me!  " 

"  Mon  Diea  !  No!  "stammers  his  companion;  then 
whispers,  with  trembling  lips:  "Not  till  I  have  told 
you!" 

"What?"  falters  Bob,  and,  looking  on  the  Creole, 
an  agony  gets  in  his  voice;  he  gasps:  "Good  God, 
man!  Louise  is — is  dead! — and  you  don't  dare  to  tell 
me!  Has  the  yellow  fever  of  last  year  broken  out 
again — and  stolen  my  heart  from  me?     She  was  well — 

happy — joyous  when  I  left  her  arms And  now — 

now — now  !  "     The  strong  man  is  trembling. 

"  Grand  Dieu  !     You  love  her  so  ?  " 

"Love  her — as  my  life! — speak! — don't  you  see — 
my  God,  she's  dead!  " 

"  No — No!     It  is  not  that!."  cries  Martineau. 

"Not  dead? — then  what's  the  matter  ?  What  has 
been  the  matter  with  you  ever  since  you  met  me  this 
morning  ? — There  are  tears  in  your  eyes  now — What's 
happened  ?  " 

"St^r  into  my  office  and  I'll  tell  you — the  cab's  at 
my  door.  You  must  come! — it  were  a  crime  if  I  let 
you  go  to  her  until  you  knew!  " 

Impressed  by  the  Creole's  manner  even  more  than 
by  his  words,  Bob  follows  Martineau.  In  the  lawyer's 
private  office,  he  says,  commandingly:  "Speak!" — 
then  mutters  falteringly  once  more.  "  You — you  say 
Louise  is  well  ?  " 

"  Louise  is  as  well  as  can  be  expected,  beggared  as 
she  is  in  fortune  and  happiness." 

"  Beggared! — by  whom  ?  " 

"By  you!" 

"What  ?" 

"The  claim  I  told  you  of — the  one  that  hung  over 
the  Tournay  estate — the  one  I  said  could  not  be  re- 
sisted— the  one  I  said  meant  ruin — the  one  I  suppose 
I  ought  in  common  honesty  to  have  disclosed  to  you — 
is  your  claim.  You  are  the  master  now  of  the  Tournay 
estate!  Your  attorney,  Jarvis,  has  done  his  work  too 
well !  Stay  here ! — Don't  leave  until  I've  told  you  all !  " 
for  Bob  is  striding  toward  the  door. 

"  No — let  me  go  to  her! — I  must  explain  that  this 


BO©    COVINGTON  175 

legal  robbery  was  without  my  knowledge — my  consent! 

"  You  cannot  explain  /" 

"  I  can — I  can  tell  Louise  how  I  love  her!" 

"That  will  be  worse!" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

11  I  mean  it  will  break  her  heart  the  more/" 

"  You're  crazy! — she  loves  me!" 

"That  is  what  will  break  her  heart." 

"  I  marry  her  next  month!  What  difference  does  it 
make  as  to  the  money? — then  it  is  hers  again!" 

"  You  cannot  marry  her!" 

"  Then  she  must  be  dead !" 

"She  can  no  more  become  your  bride  under  the  laws 
of  Louisiana  than  if  she  were." 

"Are  you  mad  or  am  I?" 

"  Neither  of  us! — I  wish  to  Heave-n  we  were!" 

"  I  think — I  begin  to  understand,"  says  Covington, 
slowly.  "  It  is  some  legal  trick  or  irregularity  in  her 
mother's  marriage — some  slur  upon  my  sweetheart's 
legitimacy  of  birth.  That's  what  it  must  be!  That's 
why  I've  turned  her  out  of  her  possessions — her  and 
her  poor  little  sister."  Then  he  goes  on  rapidly:  "  But, 
Martineau,  I'm  not  that  kind  of  a  man!  I  love  her! 
I  don't  turn  my  back  for  any  accidents  of  birth  on  this 
girl  I  adore — on  this  girl  who  loves  me — who  accepted 
me  as  her  husband  when  she  could  be  proud — when 
she  thought  she  was  rich.  In  her  day  of  despair  I  do 
not  abandon  my  sweetheart!  Bob  Covington  isn't 
built  that  way!  By  the  Lord  Harry,  I'll  marry  her  the 
sooner!" 

"You  cannot  marry  her — you  do  not  understand. 
Louise  Tournay  and  her  sister  are  part  of  the  estate 
that  to-day  I  shall  be  compelled  to  make  over  to  you." 

"Part  of  the  estate?" 

"Yes!  They  are  now — your — your  slaves,  Mr.  Cov- 
ington." 

But  Covington  does  not  answer.  He  stands  staring 
fixedly  in  Martineau's  face,  struck  speechless.  Then, 
with  a  muttered,  long  drawn  out,  gurgling  sigh,  he 
sinks  into  a  chair  and  still  gazes  at  the  Creole  avocat, 
though  his  strong  hands  clench  themselves  together 
and  once  or  twice  he  makes  a  motion  of  unbelief. 


176      .  BOB    COVINGTON 

After  a  moment,  however,  he  rises  rather  tremblingly, 
dashes  the  hair  from  his  brow,  seizes  Martineau  by  the 
shoulders,  looks  wildly  in  his  eyes  and  mutters:  "You 
don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  my — my  affianced  bride  is 
my  property V  then  bursts  out:  "Good  Heavens! 
She's  white  as  I  am — whiter!     You're  mad!  " 

"  Sit  down  and  listen!  " 

With  a  gasp  Covington  obeys,  wiping  the  perspira- 
tion from  his  brow  and  shivering  sometimes  as  he  hears 
the  tale,  as  the  Creole  attorney  gives  a  succinct  but 
accurate  statement  of  the  case,  also  a  report  of  Mr. 
Jarvis's  action  in  the  affair,  and  unlocking  his  safe  pro- 
duces the  documents  that  had  brought  destruction  on 
Louise. 

Getting  these  in  his  hands  and  reading  them  over 
Covington  turns  very  pale  and  falters:  "The  bill  of 
sale  of  her  mother — and — the  papers  drawn  up  for  the 
manumission  of  Nita  and  my — my  love! — For  I  tell 
you,  Martineau,  even  this — this  slur  upon  my  darling 
has  not  diminished  my  love  for  her — my  respectful 
love,  which  this  day  I  shall  prove — as  God  is  above 
me — I  shall  prove!  And  I  ain't  bragging!"  Then  he 
goes  on:  "I  see  now  why  you  wanted  Nita  and  Louise 
in  Paris!  I  understand  why  you've  kept  this  secret 
from  me — why  you  tried  to  place  them  beyond  my 
grasp!  God  bless  you  for  it,  Arvid  Martineau,  God 
bless  you!  " 

"And  God  bless  you  !  "  cries  the  attorney,  "  For  I 
see — Dieu  merci! — they  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  a 
noble  gentleman  !  "  And  with  Creole  emotion  the  old 
gentleman  embraces  the  younger,  and  after  the  fashion 
of  the  French,  kisses  the  big  Kentuckian  on  each 
cheek. 

This  is  broken  in  upon  by  a  jovial  voice  crying 
out:   "  Here's  another  of  the  happy  family! — Shake!  " 

It  is  Mr.  Kitson  Jarvis,  who  has  heard  of  Covington's 
arrival,  and  having  told  the  clerks  that  he  is  expected, 
has  received  immediate  entree. 

"  Didn't  I  do  the  thing  up  for  you  in  prime  legal 
style,  Mr.  Covington?  You're  as  good  as  in  posses- 
sion of  the  property  now.  Brought  the  other  little 
chattel  down  with  you   from    New   York — estate   all 


BOB    COVINGTON  1 77 

here,"  continues  the  attorney  in  affable  joy,  for  he 
thinks  Bob  has  been  embracing  Martineau,  enraptured 
at  getting  so  easily  all  the  goods  and  chattels,  real  and 
personal,  of  the  Tournay  estate,  especially  the  beautiful 
Louise. 

He  might  go  on,  however,  with  dangerous  remarks 
about  the  fair  captive  of  his  legal  acumen,  did  not 
his  client  turn  upon  him,  the  veins  standing  out  like 
whipcords  from  his  forehead,  and  mutter  savagely: 
"  By  Satan — you're  the  cuss!  " 

"Of  course  I  am,"  answers  Kitson,  laughingly, 
"and  no  lawyer  in  New  Orleans  could  have  done  it 
slicker!  Didn't  I  nose  out  that  old  Esplanade  deed  of 
Prosper  Tournay  ?  Didn't  that  give  me  the  hint  ? 
Didn't  I  get  the  affidavit  of  Faval  Bigore  Poussin  ? 
Didn't  I  send  that  telegram  signed  "Louise"  to  New 
York ." 

"  In  contravention  of  your  oath!  "  cries  Martineau. 
"When  she  sacrificed  herself •  to  give  her  sister  free- 
dom." 

"There  you're  out!  "  replies  Jarvis.  "I  kept  my 
word.  That  telegram  had  already  been  sent.  I  don't 
let  the  grass  grow  under  my  feet  while  taking  care  of 
my  client !  You'll  find  that  out,  Mr.  Covington — money, 
cash,  plantations,  goods,  chattels — everything — right 
here  under  your  hand.  You  ought  to  be  the  happiest 
jim-dandy  in  New  Orleans  to-day!  " 

"  I  suppose  you  did  your  work  after  your  legal  lights 
well  enough.  But — do  you  see  these  arms — good, 
strong  ones  aren't  they  ?  By  the  Eternal ! — I'd  sooner  you 
had  torn  them  both  out  of  their  sockets  than  have  put 
chains  on  her  pretty  wrists !  That's  how  happy  I  am !  " 
mutters  Bob,  regarding  his  successful  attorney  with  an 
evil  eye.  Then  he  shudders:  "  By  heaven,  you  have 
tricked  me  into  bringing  Nita  here  to  bondage !  Louise 
will  think  I  have  betrayed  her  sister,  and  that  it  is  by 
my  will  and  command  she  has  been  made  my  slave  /" 

"Well,  the  girl's  knowing  you're  her  master  won't 
do  you  any  harm  in  your  courting,"  chuckles  Jarvis, 
then  gurgles  suddenly:  "  Gol  darn  it,  what  are  ye 
doing!" 

For  Covington  has  him  by  the  throat  and  is  whisper- 


178  BOB    COVINGTON 

ing:  "Another  word,  and, — by  Daniel  Boone! — I'll 
dash  your  brains  out  against  that  safe!" 

"  That's  as — assault  and  b — b — battery!  " 

"  Yes,  and  homicide  too;  but  you  won't  be  alive  to 
claim  damages !  "  jeers  the  Kentuckian.  Then  he  cries : 
"Pish!  She's  breaking  her  heart  while  I'm  making  a 
fool  of  myself!  "  and  drops  the  breathless  Jarvis  into  a 
chair. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  asks  Martineau 
eagerly,  for  Bob  is  picking  up  his  hat  from  the  floor 
and  placing  it  on  his  head. 

"Do? — By  all  I  hold  sacred,  I'm  going  to  undo  the 
wrong  that  has  been  done  my  angel — if  all  the  laws  of 
Louisiana  stand  against  me!  " 

From  now  on,  the  Creole  avocat  notices  that  there 
are  no  more  spasms  of  emotional  fury  from  this  young 
man,  who  now  knits  his  brows  as  if  thinking  very 
deeply  on  some  mighty  problem. 

"And — and  my  fee?"  pants  Jarvis — who  has  re- 
covered a  little  of  his  breath. 

' '  It  shall  be  paid  to  the  last  picayune !  Meet  me  at 
eight  o'clock  to-night,  here.  But  mark  me — as  you 
love  your  miserable  life — not  one  word  of  the  degrada- 
tion of  the  woman  I  adore  to  outside  ears!  My  God! 
If  she's  been  illtreated  by  that  woman  you've  put  in 
charge  of  her,  look  to  yourself!" 

"  I  only  acted  as  agent,  to  be  sure  she  wouldn't  run 
away.     You're  her  master!  " 

"  I'm  her  master  to  protect,  to  ennoble  her,  to  raise 
her  up  against  the  world  that  would  pull  her  down — 
to  love  her  better  now  than  I  ever  loved  her  before!  " 

And  Covington  strides  about  the  room  looking  like  a 
grizzly  in  a  den  of  rattlesnakes;  impressing  Jarvis  so 
much  that  the  attorney  whispers:  "At  eight  o'clock 
I  will  call  for  the  cash!"  and  departs,  apparently  wish- 
ing to  let  the  Kentuckian  work  off   his  quixotic  ideas. 

For  as  such  Kitson  regards  them,  cogitating  as  he 
goes  away:  "Wait  till  my  young  spark  puts  eyes  on 
the  loveliness  that  is  now  his  property — By  Jerush! 
He'll  be  shaking  hands  with  himself  and  me  too — this 
evening  at  eight!" 

But  Jarvis  does  not   know  Bob   Covington  as   well 


BOB    COVINGTON  1 79 

now  as  he  will  a  few  hours  later.  For  this  day  the 
young  Kentuckian  does  a  few  things  that  make  not 
only  the  cute  Yankee  attorney,  but  also  the  more  dig- 
nified Creole  avocat  open  their  eyes  and  roll  their  heads 
astounded. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

"the  rashest  promise  man  ever  made." 

Already  he  commences  to  bring  astonishment  on 
Martineau,  for  the  moment  Jarvis  has  left,  Covington 
says,  a  strangely  guarded  tone  in  his  voice:  "Don't 
you  think  we  had  better  call  upon  Miss  Tournay  ?  She 
may  be  anxious  as  to  the  position  I  may  assume  to 
her." 

"  Had  not  you  better  go  alone  ?"  remarks  the  avocat, 
hesitatingly.  "Louise  might  not  like  to  express  her- 
self fully  in  the  presence  of  a  third  party.  You  know 
she  was  engaged  to  marry  you " 

"Is  engaged  to  marry  me !  Miss  Tournay  is  engaged 
to  marry  me!  Pardon  my  correcting  you — but  my 
dear  Martineau — Miss  Tournay  is  still  my  affianced 
bride.  Though,  of  course,  my  relations  to  her  are 
now  so  delicate,  my  intercourse  with  her  must  be  most 
guarded." 

Then  for  the  last  time  until  he  sees  his  love,  Bob 
Covington  breaks  out,  faltering:  "I'm  going  to  beg 
her  pardon — my  angel  that  unwittingly  I  have  injured 
— my  darling,  with  chains  upon  her  wrists— my  chains! 
But  by  the  Heaven  above  me!  I  mean  to  put  no  touch 
of  shame  upon  my  sweetheart's  brow!  Come  on !  I'd 
sooner  face  the  fire  of  a  battery  than  this  interview; 
but  it  will  be  worse  for  her.  I  expect  the  poor  girl 
will  break  down  when  she  sees  me." 

But  Mr.  Covington  does  not  know  Miss  Tournay! 
Though  he  gets  evidence  of  what  his  reception  in 
Dauphine  Street  will  be  from  the  skirmish  line  in  Mrs. 
Joyce. 

As  they  enter   the  little  salon,  t*he  ex-schoolmistress 


180  BOB    COVINGTON 

swoops  down  upon  Bob.  She  is  dressed  for  departure, 
carrying  an  umbrella  in  her  hand  and  the  fire  of  battle 
gleaming  through  her  spectacles. 

With  no  bows,  or  how-d'ye-dos,  or  glad-to-see-yous, 
she  opens  fire.  "Don't  you  guess,"  she  cries,  in  in- 
dignant scorn,  "you're  a  little,  the  meanest  sneak  up- 
on this  earth?  You  miserable  child  kidnapper!  You 
creature,  who  would  degrade  the  girl  you  once  prom- 
ised to  make  your  wife,  and  not  content  with  her 
slavery  and  humiliation,  you  seize  her  unfortunate  sister 
and  lure  her  down  here  to  despair  also!  " 

"You  are  laboring  under  a  misunderstanding," 
mutters  Bob  shamefacedly.  "  I  brought  Nita  here 
under  a  mistake — a  false  telegram  sent  by  that  infernal 
attorney  of  mine !  " 

"Oh,  yes!  Put  your  sins  upon  your  myrmidon!  I 
haven't  long  to  stay  in  this  house,  thank  Heaven!  But 
before  I  go  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think  of  you!  " 

And  she  would  go  on,  unheeding  Martineau's  dep- 
recating gestures,  but  Bob  breaks  in:  "Doesn't 
Nita  say  I  treated  her  with'  all  the  respect  due  any 
lady?  — that,  child  as  she  is,  she  has  had  every  deli- 
cate attention  and  courtesy  from  my  hands?  " 

"Oh,  yes;  that's  your  cunningness!  You  did  not 
want  a  scene  upon  the  boat,  when  every  man's  hand 
would  have  been  raised  against  you;  but  now " 

"What  has  been  done  to  her? " 

"  She  has  been  locked  up !  " 

"  Good  heavens!  " 

"  She  has  been  seized  by  this  woman,  Mrs.  Combes !  " 

Here  Hannah  comes  in  to  take  her  own  part.  She 
says:  "Acting  under  Mr.  Jarvis,  your  attorney's, 
authority,  I  have  taken  such  precautions  as  I  deemed 
best  for  the  safety  of  your  property;  that's  all.  Nita 
was  saucy  to  me,  and  I  locked  her  up.  The  girl  Louise 
is  now  ready  to  see  you  at  your  convenience." 

"Let  Nita  out  at  once !  "  cries  Covington.  "  Martin- 
eau,  you  settle  with  this  woman — I  can't  look  at  her 
complacently — Get  her  out  of  the  house  as  soon  as 
possible!  Give  her  a  hundred  dollars  to  hold  her 
tongue — only  get  her  out!  "  Then  he  turns  to  Mrs. 
Joyce  and  says:   "Will  you  please  have  the  kindness 


BOB  .COVINGTON  181 

to  inform  Miss  Tournay,  with  my  card,  that  I  beg  her 
to  see  me.  It  would  also  be  my  wish,  if  you  can  bring 
yourself  to  remain  here." 

"  Not  in  your  service!  "  snorts  Pamela. 

"No!  As  Miss  Tournay's  companion,  as  you  were 
before — if  she  wishes  it." 

"Very  well;  I'll  give  her  your  message." 

And  Martineau  having  settled  with  Mrs.  Combes, 
and  given  her  enough  money  to  insure  that  matron's 
silence,  telling  her,  in  addition,  that  Jarvis  will  never 
forgive  her  if  she  does  not  keep  her  tongue  very  close, 
that  matron  comes  in  to  Mr.  Covington  once*  more 
and  says:  "I  thank  you  very  much,  sir,  for  your 
liberality'  to  me.  You  will  find  the  girl  Louise  has 
received  much  kinder  treatment  at  my  hands  than  she 
deserved.  She  is  very  beautiful,  and  I  hope  you'll  be 
kind  to  her." 

This  kind  of  talk  drives  Bob  crazy.  He  mutters: 
"Yes — only  please  go  away — please  go  away — Hang 
it! — get  out — Don't  you  see " 

"  Of  course  I  see  you're  very  anxious  to  look  at  your 
beautiful  slave,"  adds  the  woman,  with  a  farewell  shot, 
for  she  has  noticed  that  every  time  she  has  mentioned 
"  the  girl  Louise  "  her  master  has  given  a  shudder. 

Then  for  a  moment  Bob  has  a  chance  to  speak  to 
Martineau.  He  says:  "I  reckon  you'd  better  get 
Mrs.  Joyce  into  the  other  parlor.  That  will  preserve 
all  the  convenances,  and — perhaps  Louise — Miss 
Tournay — may  say  some  bitter  things.  Heaven  pity  me 
— there  seems  to  be  some  horrible  misunderstanding 
of  me." 

Just  here  he  gets  an  additional  evidence  of  this. 
Nita,  released  from  confinement,  comes  out,  her  black 
eyes  sparkling  with  rage,  and  stepping  up  to  him  cries: 
"  My  master,  I  am  told!     O-o-o-h  how  I  hate  you!" 

"  Wasn't  I  good  to  you  all  this  week?  Haven't  I 
done  everything  for  your  comfort — your  happiness?" 
falters  poor  Bob. 

"  My  happiness?  Mrs.  Joyce  says  you've  stole  my 
money — and  are  going  to  make  me  work  myself!  Oh, 
yes;  you've — you've  done  a  great  deal  for  me,  Cousin 
Bob!     Go  and  blow   your   own  horn   and    toot  your 


182  BOB    COVINGTON 

trumpet  to  Louise — see  how  she'll  love  you!  They  tell 
me  you  asked  her  to  marry  you — when  she  was  rich — 
Now  bossed  by  that  awful  woman,  who  has  whipped 
her!" 

\ ' Whipped  her?"  screams  Bob,  adding  an  awful 
oath. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  whether  she  did  or  not.  But 
that  woman  threatened  to  whip  me,  and  I  suppose  she 
did  the  same  to  Louise.  Just  wait!  you'll  see  how 
much  she  loves  you!  Oh,  we've  both  got  lots  to  thank 
you  for!  " 

1 '  For  Heaven's  sake !  don't  strike  a  poor  fellow  when 
he's  down,"  mutters  the  unfortunate  Covington,  hang- 
ing his  head. 

Then  a  hush  falls  on  them  all,  as  Mrs.  Joyce  enters 
and  whispers  nervously:    "She's  coming!" 

And  it  seems  to  awe  them,  this  approaching  meeting 
of  man  and  woman  who  parted  as  betrothed,  and  who 
now  meet,  the  man  as  master,  the  woman  as  his  slave, 
forbidden  by  the  law  to  wed,  but  not  forbidden  by  the 
law  to  love. 

In  obedience  to  a  muttered  word  from  Martineau, 
Mrs.  Joyce  withdraws  with  him  into  the  second  parlor, 
taking  with  her  the  unwilling  Nita,  though  she  is  whis- 
pering, savagely:  "Let  me  stay — I  want  to  see  Louise 
give  master  fits!  " 

The  avocat,  as  he  draws  the  child  away,  gives  a  glance 
of  sympathy  to  Covington,  who,  taking  a  long-drawn 
breath,  stands,  his  tongue  dumb,  his  eyes  speaking — 
this  master  who  is  trembling  as  he  looks  upon  his  bond- 
maid. 

For  Louise  now  stands  before  him,  and  his  sweet- 
heart, in  her  new  serfdom,  seems  more  lovely  to  him 
than  she  had  ever  looked  in  pride  and  glory. 

And  she  is  more  lovely! 

Suffering  has  made  the  exquisite  face  more  spiritual. 
A  wondrous  grace  pervades  each  sweeping  pose,  each 
vivid  gesture.  In  her  willowy  figure  there  is  a  strange 
mixture  of  shrinking  bashfulness  and  stately  hauteur, 
punctuated  once  or  twice  in  this  strange  interview  by 
mutinous  yet  piquant  sarcasm,  as  if  this  chattel  mocked 
her  lowly  lot  and  sometimes  even  the  dictator  of  her 
destiny. 


BOB    COVINGTON  183 

Louise  is  only  slightly  thinner,  but  her  eyes  have 
in  them  a  pathetic  beauty  that  had  not  been  theirs  be- 
fore. Yet,  even  with  this  sadness  of  the  violet  eyes 
with  latent  tears  behind  them,  this  shrinking  of  the 
mobile  figure,  Covington  as  he  gazes  at  her,  knows 
this  woman,  who  is  his  chattel,  is  the  proudest  being, 
in  her  humiliation,  he  has  ever  seen  upon  the  earth. 

As  the  girl  comes  in,  a  mighty  blush  of  modesty, 
perchance  of  embarrassment,  flies  over  neck  and  bust 
and  face.  Louise  droops  her  eyes,  for  she  now  feels, 
brought  home  to  her  for  the  first  time  in  all  its  hideous 
reality,  that  she  is  not  her  own.     She  is  property.     This 

MAN     OWNS     HER    FLESH    AND    BLOOD.       She    belongs  tO 

him;  his  will  must  be  her  will;  his  command  her 
law;  by  his  hand  she  may  be  corrected  and  chastised. 
Against  this,  her  spirit  flies  up  in  agonized  rebellion. 
She  longs  to  be  beautiful  and  haughty — beautiful  to 
make  him  love  her,  though  she  is  his  serf — haughty 
enough  to  break  the  heart  of  this  man,  she  now 
thinks,  holds  her  and  her  sister  as  his  chattels — and 
glories  in  it. 

With  this  idea  Louise  has  let  Mrs.  Combes  do 
her  will  upon  her,  and  Hannah  has  done  her  work 
very  well.  She  is  dressed  quite  simply,  in  one  of 
the  light  gowns  made  for  her  to  prevent  all  excursions 
upon  the  street.  It  is  a  simple  white  muslin,  trimmed 
with  a  little  lace,  with  a  few  white  ruchings.  From 
out  its  snow,  her  arms,  shoulders  and  maiden  bosom 
gleam  like  ivory  in  that  extraordinary  delicacy  of  tint 
which  marks  the  purest  Castilian  blood.  The  soft 
draperies  give  to  her  a  fairy-like  appearance;  but,  oh, 
she  is  the  haughtiest  fairy  that  ever  tripped  a  cloud. 

Covington,  forgetful  of  all  but  love  and  pity,  steps 
forward  hurriedly  to  meet  her.  But  she,  divining  that 
he  will  take  her  to  his  heart,  stays  him,  and  shocks  him 
with  an  awful  shudder;  then  sweeps  to  the  floor  in 
haughty  courtesy,  and  murmurs:   "My  master." 

It  is  the  word  that  can  give  him  the  most  pain  her 
lips  can  utter. 

He  whispers  excitedly:  "Call  me  any  name  but 
that!" 

"  What  title  do  you  wish,  sir  ? " 

"  My  heaven,  how  unjust  you  are!  " 


1 84  BOB    COVINGTON 

"  Unjust  ?  "  cries  the  girl ;  and  her  white  hand  points 
to  her  little  enslaved  sister.  Suddenly,  she  breaks  out, 
her  voice  sad  with  destroyed  hope:  "  Oh,  how  I  have 
loved  and  trusted  you!  On  that  fearful  night  when 
they  proved  to  me  I  was  your  chattel,  all  I  asked,  was: 
i  Does  my  Bob  know?'  And  when  they  told  me  you 
were  ignorant,  I  said:  'Then,  I  can  live  to  see  him.' 
That  is  what  has  kept  me  alive,  looking  for  your  com- 
ing face,  listening  for  your  expected  voice.  But 
now " 

"Now  you  condemn  me  unheard!  " 

"Unheard?  Your  actions  speak!"  And  her  eyes 
blaze.  Then,  curiously,  she  begins  to  beg:  "This  very 
day,  please — please  send  Nita  and  me  to  your  planta- 
tion at  Beau  Rivage.  Oh,  you  can  do  it  safely!  "  for 
Bob  has  made  a  sudden  gesture  of  dissent.  "  Mr.  Jar- 
vis  can  easily  find  some  trusted  agent  to  take  us  poor 
girls  safely  there — Mrs.  Combes,  for  instance."  This 
with  a  little  shudder.  "  A  line  to  your  overseer  or 
housekeeper  at  Beau  Rivage  will  ensure  a  sharp  eye 
and  strict  hand  being  kept  upon  us — your  slaves!  " 

"Sendyou  to  an  overseer?  "  shrieks  Bob. 

And  she,  mistaking  him  again,  grows  very  pale  and 
desperate,  and  falters:  "You  —you  surely  do  not  mean 
for — f or  me — to  stay  here  in  this  house  as  your  slave, 
when  you  occupy  it  as  your  home  ?  Ah,  that  were  too 
great  an  infamy!  " 

"What  makes  you  think  this  monstrous  thing?" 
gasps  Bob  indignantly. 

"Monstrous?"  echoes  his  chattel,  in  disdainful  un- 
belief. "  Is  not  your  valet,  with  all  your  trunks,  with- 
in this  house?  " 

"  Eternal  curses  on  his  darky  brain !  " 

But  she  doesn't  head  this,  and  goes  on:  "Why 
should  I  expect  mercy  from  your  hands,  who  have 
given  Nita  none?  Why  should  I  hope  for  truth 
from  you  who  have,  despite  your  promise,  brought 
my  sister  back  with  you  to  a  slavery  as  cruel  as  my 
own?" 

"  Have  you  finished?  " 

"  If  it  is  your  will,  sir!  " 

"Then   listen   to   me!"   says    Covington,    sternly. 


BOB    COVINGTON  185 

And  growing  very  calm,  half  with  indignation,  half 
with  despair,  he  tells  her  all  the  truth.  Of  Jarvis's 
lying  telegram  about  her  health,  that  he  should  bring 
Nita  back  to  her  sick  sister  ;  how  he  had  journeyed 
as  rapidly  as  rail  and  boat  could  bring  him,  and  paced 
the  deck  of  the  steamer  each  night  as  she  swept  down 
the  Mississippi,  anxious  for  the  welfare  of  his  love, 
"Now,"  he  says,  ''I  come  here,  within  my  hand  a 
trinket,  bought  at  Tiffany's  in  New  York,  to  prove  I 
never  for  an  instant  knew  your  fate ;  that  I  still  regard 
you  as  my  affianced  bride.  This  ring — "  He  holds 
up  a  flaming  diamond. 

"Oh,  yes;  I  need  another!  The  one  you  last  placed 
on  my  finger  was  taken  from  me.  So  everything 
else.  Your  agents  took  good  care  I  had  no  chance  of 
flight." 

"  But  I  did  not  know  that!  By  Daniel  Boone,  how 
could  I  tell  that  ?  "  And  Bob  breaks  out  with  fearful 
imprecations  against  Jarvis  and  the  woman  Combes, 
then  mutters  hoarsely:  "How  have  they  treated 
you  ?" 

Looking  at  him,  the  girl  knows  if  she  says  the  word, 
in  his  anguish  this  man  she  is  now  lashing  to  despera- 
tion with  her  loveliness  and  her  contumely,  will  doubt- 
less kill  his  attorney  and  perchance  make  short  work  of 
the  woman  who  has  guarded  her  so  carefully  in  his  in- 
terests. 

Then  by  God's  fortune  and  her  generous  heart, 
Louise  does  not  speak  of  confinement,  of  lock  and  key 
and  threatened  chastisement,  but  simply  says:  "  They 
treated  me  as  if  they  thought  I  were  very  precious  in 
your  eyes — as  if  I  were  to  be  the  crowning  glory  of  your 
triumphant  coming  back,  my  master." 

And  gazing  at  her,  Covington  murmurs,  his  soul  in 
his  voice:  "Precious  you  are  to  me,  dear  one!  I 
love  you  heart  and  soul,  despite  what  the  law  has  made 
you,  despite  everything  that  stands  between  us." 

"  Then  while  I — I  have  my  own  self-respect,  let  me  fly 
from  you!"  whispers  the  girl,  with  white  lips,  who  now, 
knowing  the  truth  of  this  man  of  her  heart,  loves  him 
more  because  of  the  injustice  she  has  done  him — ay, 
even  perchance  because  of  the  barrier  that  is  betwixt 


1 86  BOB    COVINGTON 

their  love;  next  droops  her  head,  and  murmurs,  hope- 
lessly, despairingly,  blushingly:  "  But  I  am  a  slave — 
fallen    below    the     world's     pity— even    beneath     its 


scorn 


i" 


"  But  not  beneath  my  love!" 

"Pardon  me.  My  chains  make  me  above  it /"  And 
rising  to  her  full  height,  Louise  looks  to  Bob's  ardent 
eyes  as  dazzling  but  as  cold  as  ever  vestal  Virginia 
looked  to  Appius  Claudius. 

But  here  sudden  inspiration  coming  to  him,  he 
whispers:  "Behold  another  ring  that  was  purchased 
for  your  finger  in  New  York!"  and  drawing  from  his 
pocket  holds  up  to  her  a  glittering  circlet  of  pure  gold 
— that  symbol  of  the  greatest  honor  man  can  give  to 
woman — the  ring  of  holy  marriage — then  says,  in  in- 
dignant pride:  "  Miscontrue  this  if  you  dare, 
Louise!"  next  mutters  hoarsely:  "  No  more  insults  to 
my  love." 

"You — you  would  make  me  your  wife?"  falters  the 
girl.  "  Chattel  as  I  am  ? — Bondmaid  as  I  am  ? — Your 
own  serf  ? — you  would  make  your  honored  wife?  " 

"By  the  Deity,  I  would!  " 

On  this  there  is  a  faltering  cry:  "  My  Bob!  Have  I 
been  unjust?" 

"  Unjust?  Do  you  think  it  is  happiness  to  me 
to  see  the  woman  I  adore  —  my  promised  bride  — 
the  woman  I  wed  or  do  not  wed  at  all  — cast  down  be- 
fore the  world  —  sullied  by  my  hand?  Ah!  I  suffer, 
even  more  than  you." 

"  Do  you,  Bob?  "  says  the  girl,  tenderly.  "Do  you, 
Bob?"  For  she  is  wavering  now,  and  commences  to 
tremble  in  every  limb  and  look  at  him  with  something 
of  the  old  time  glances  of  his  betrothed. 

Seeing  this,  he  steps  forward  to  get  an  arm  round 
her  and  hold  her  up,  and  perchance  would  kiss  her;  for 
he  is  very  hungry  for  her  lips. 

But  she,  steadying  herself,  puts  her  hands  before  her 
as  if  to  keep  him  off,  and  smi'es  him  with  these  awful 
words:  "  No  kisses  for  my  master!  My  lips  are  for  my 
affianced  husband!  Remember  the  law  forbids  us 
marriage !  "  The  i  seeing  how  she  has  wounded  him,  for 
he    has   staggered  back,    she  falters:    "Forgive  me! 


BOB    COVINGTON  187 

There  is  no  hope  for  us.  I  love  you,  Bob  —  I  hoped 
to  wed  you.  Oh,  dear  one,  how  happy  I  was  when  I 
thought  within  the  month  — you  —  you  would  join  me 
at  the  chanc- 1  and  make  me  before  all  the  world  your 
happy  and  your  honored  wife." 

And  he,  driven  mad  for  the  moment  by  the  beauty 
and  loveliness  of  this  fair  creature,  who  is  quivering 
before  him,  the  love  in  her  face  shrouded  by  despair, 
whispers :  "  /  will  do  it  yet !  "  then  cries:  "  Martineau, 
come  here  and  listen  to  my  words!"  and  turning  to 
his  bondmaid  says:  ''The  law  has  thrown  you,  my 
angel,  down  ;  my  love  shall  raise  you  up!  I  will  take 
you  up  the  aisle  of  the  proudest  church  in  New  Or- 
leans —  Christ  Church,  I  believe,  was  the  one  we  talked 
of  —  and  there  make  you  my  bride,  I  swear  to  Heaven, 
despite  the  law!  " 

But  he  gets  no  further.  For  with  a  faint,  sighing 
scream  of  joy,  or  despair,  or  of  unbelief,  or  all,  Louise 
has  fallen  fainting  into  her  master's  arms,  as  senseless 
as  when  she  first  heard  she  was  his  slave. 

And  Martineau,  gazing  on  them,  whispers  with  white 
lips  :  "  Mon  Dieu  !  That  was  the  rashest  promise  love 
ever  brought  from  man's  lips  to  a  woman !  " 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

KITSON  JARVIS    TAKES    ANOTHER-  FEE. 

"That  afterward!"  says  Covington,  desperately. 
"Now  help  me  to  bring  life  and  recollection  to  my 
loved  one." 

Raising  Louise  in  his  strong  arms,  he  carries  her 
to  a  sofa,  and  implores:  "Send  for  a  doctor,  quick! 
Mrs.  Joyce — aid  me!  Nita — run  for  water!"  and  all 
the  time  he  is  fondling  Louise's  fair  hands  and 
kissing  her  white  brow.  A  moment  later  he  sighs: 
"God  can't  intend  to  curse  forever  such  beauty  and 
such  goodness."  Gazing  at  her,  he  suddenly  cries: 
"Do  you  think  there  is   aught  but   Caucasian  blood 


1 88  BOB    COVINGTON 

in  this  fair  body? — aye — blood  of  the  purest  and 
noblest?  I  don't  care  for  your  documents!  I  don't 
care  for  your  proofs!  I  don't  care  for  your  law — but 
the  one  law  of  Louisiana  that  declares  that  no  white 
person  can  be  aslave — and  that  I  will  prove  her  to  be !  " 

Then  he  turns  to  Mrs.  Joyce,  who  is  whispering  to 
him:  "Forgive  me;  I  did  not  know  how  noble  you 
could  be,"  and  says:  "  Take  care  of  her.  Manage  the 
house  as  if  it  were  her  own — as  I  will  make  it  yet! 
Treat  her  tenderly,  for  my  sake.  For,  heaven  help 
me,  I  will  see  her  face  no  more  so  long  as  the  law  says 
I  am  her  master  and  she  my  bondmaid!" 

Soon  after  this,  a  physician  being  in  attendance  on 
Louise,  with  one  last  kiss  upon  the  pale  lips  that  are 
even  now  regaining  their  color,  Covington  whispers 
hastily  to  Mrs.  Joyce:  "Keep  me  informed  of  my 
darling's  condition;  I  stop  at  the  Verandah  Hotel," 
and  turns  to  go  away,  followed  by  Martineau. 

But  even  as  he  reaches  the  head  of  the  stairs,  two 
pretty  little  arms  are  round  his  neck  and  a  sweet  little 
face  is  put  upon  his  shoulder,  and  Miss  Nita  says: 
"Kiss  me,  cousin  Bob,  and  forgive  me.  You're 
the  best  cousin  in  the  world!  I  ain't  afraid  of  you, 
even  if  you  are  my  master." 

As  they  step  down  the  stairs  together,  Martineau, 
who  has  been  turning  the  matter  over  in  his  mind,  re- 
marks: "  My  poor  boy,  you  have  made  two  rash  prom- 
ises. " 

"Both  I  will  keep!" 

"  Impossible!  " 

"Why?" 

"The  law  will  prevent  your  doing  the  one;  and  the 
young  lady  herself  will  prevent  your  keeping  the 
other.' 

"  I  can  manumit  her." 

"Of  course.  After  forty  days'  notice,  posting  her 
name  up  in  the  Court  House  and  obtaining  permission 
of  a  jury.  It  will  be  a  terrible  blow  to  your  pride  and 
it  will  break  Louise's  heart." 

"There's  another  way  out  of  this,"  mutters  Bob, 
who  is  young  and  has  not  yet  learned  that  love  and 
pluck  don't  always  win  the  battles  of  this  earth.    "But 


BOB    COVINGTON  189 

first,  a  word  with  that  infernal  scoundrel  sitting  up 
there  on  the  bannister."  He  turns  an  evil  eye  on 
Mr.  Csesar,  who  is  calmly  smoking  on  one  of  the  bal- 
conies with  Mr.  Covington's  luggage  about  him  and, 
the  day  being  warm,  an  umbrella  over  his  head. 

"What  are  you  doing  up  therej  "  cries  Covington 
sternly,  stepping  into  the  middle  of  the  courtyard. 

"I'se  waiting  for  orders,"  answers  the  sable  valet, 
withdrawing  a  big,  strong  and  succulent  cigar  from 
his  lips. 

':What  were  my  orders?  " 

"I  was  to  take  Miss  Nita  home  and  get  your  lug- 
gage out  on  to  the  veranda." 

"  On  to  the  Verandah  Hotel,  you  crazy  imp  of  Eblis 
— you  darky-brain!     Let  me  get  at  you!  " 

"Not  at  present,  Mistah  Covington.  We'll  argue 
dis  point  from  a  distance.  Why  didn't  yo'  say  the 
Verandah  Hotel?  I  s'posed  yo'  wanted  to  stop  at  the 
St.  Charles." 

"No,  I  said  Verandah,  you  nigger-brain!  I  wanted 
to  be  quiet  and  retired ;  I  wanted  to  get  away  from  the 
bloods.     Let  me  at  you!  " 

But  Martineau  puts  his  hand  upon  Bob's  arm  and 
suggests  smilingly:  "  It  was  a  curious,  though  not  so 
unnatural,  mistake;  and  produced,  I  imagine,  a  little 

uneasiness  in  your "  he  checks  himself,   then  says: 

"your  affianced's  mind."  For  Martineau,  under  the 
circumstances  feels  he  can  now  call  the  beautiful 
girl,  who  is  recovering  consciousness  above,  by  no 
other  title.  "But  come  on  to  the  Verandah  yourself," 
he  adds.  "  My  poor  boy,  you've  had  nothing  to  eat 
since  you  left  the  boat  this  morning." 

"Very  well,  I'll  go  on  to  the  hotel  and  act  like  an 
ordinary  human  being,  if  you'll  get  me  one  paper." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  I  think  it  can  be  obtained  to-day.  It  is  simply  an 
appointment  by  the  proper  court  to  act  as  guardian 
for  Nita  Tournay,  a  child  under  age.  Do  you  think 
you  can  do  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Without  bringing  Nita  into  court  ?  " 

"Certainly  !     Though,  of  course,"  says  the  Creole 


I  go  BOB    COVINGTON 

avocaty  "  under  the  circumstances,  Mr.  Covington,  the 
document  will  be  an  empty  form.  Children  of  Nita's 
condition  have  nothing  to  protect.  As  her  master  you 
have  full  control  of  her." 

"Don't  call  me  that,"  whispers  Bob,  "because  that 
means  despair  to  me.  It  is  through  Nita  I  hope  to 
guard  the  interests  of  my  affianced  bride.  Can  you 
get  me  the  paper  ?  " 

"Certainly." 

"  Very  well;  give  it  to  me  when  I  meet  you  at  your 
office.     What  time  does  Jarvis  come  ?  " 

"Eight  o'clock." 

'  \  Let  me  meet  you  then  at  seven.  Think  over  every- 
thing connected  with  Prosper  Tournay's  life  and  Nita's 
mother.  I  can  discuss  that  with  you  in  the  hour  be- 
fore Kitson  Jarvis — my  sharp  attorney,  who  has  taken 
such  good  care  of  my  interests — comes  to  get  his  set- 
tlement." 

With  this  Bob  goes  away,  and  forces  himself  to  eat 
a  sombre  meal  at  the  Verandah,  that  magnificent  hos- 
telry at  the  corner  of  Common  and  St.  Charles  Streets, 
the  most  quiet  and  probably  the  most  aristocratic  in 
its  day  in  New  Orleans. 

Then  to  the  astonishment  of  Mr.  Caesar,  who  has 
arrived  with  his  baggage,  Bob  goes  up  to  his  apart- 
ments, and  refusing  all  offer  of  change  of  raiment, 
paces  the  room,  thinking,  pondering,  and  sometimes 
putting  his  hands  to  his  brow.  Suddenly  he  cries:  "  I 
must  have  some  more  subtle,  certainly  a  calmer  mind 
to  work  out  her  salvation  !  "  and  strides  to  the  office 
on  Custom  House  Street,  with  a  very  throbbing  brain 
in  his  head  and  a  very  heavy  heart  in  his  body. 

In  his  consulting-room  he  finds  the  Creole  avocat, 
every  paper  bearing  upon  the  case  in  front  of  him. 
These  are  simply  the  bill  of  sale  from  Poussin  of  Eulalie 
Camila  to  Prosper  Tournay,  the  papers  for  the  manu- 
mission of  Louise  and  Nita,  drawn  up  ready  for  execu- 
tion but  unsigned,  and  a  few  notes  from  the  savant  to 
Martineau  in  regard  to  the  matter  of  making  his 
daughters  free  and  providing  for  their  future  welfare. 

"  Why  didn't  you  destroy  all  these  cursed  things?" 
mutters  Covington  after  looking  them  over.       "Why 


BOB    COVINGTON  191 

did  you  not  wipe  out  all  evidence  by  which  that  infer- 
nal lawyer  has  brought  destruction  upon  these  two 
poor  girls  and  upon  me?" 

"I  kept  these,"  answers  the  Creole  attorney,  "for 
the  very  purpose  I  use  them  now,  to  show  them  to 
you,  these  young  ladies'  owner — for  what  is  the  good 
of  mincing  a  matter  you  have  got  to  look  in  the 
face,  I  have  got  to  look  in  the  face,  Louise  has  got  to 
look  in  the  face — so  that  you  should  know  what  Pros- 
per Tournay's  intentions  were  regarding  his  children." 

"You  mean  that  I  can  see  he  wanted  to  free  the 
girls  and  leave  them  his  property?  That  I  shall  do  of 
course  at  the  last. " 

"  Yes;  if  a  jury  appointed  for  that  purpose  in  New 
Orleans,  or  a  police  jury  in  Assumption  or  La  Fourche 
Parish  permit  you  to;  but  only  after  giving  public  no- 
tice of  the  same  for  forty  days."* 

"  But  these  children  have  not  been  claimed  in  slav- 
ery, and  the  law  says — at  least  I  have  been  so  told — 

*The  method  of  procedure  for  the  emancipation  of  slaves  in 
Louisiana  was  in  some  respects  different  to  that  of  any  other 
State.      Vide  Stroud's  Slave  Laws. 

Civil  Code  of  Louisiana,  Article  184.  A  man  who  wishes  to 
emancipate  his  slave  is  bound  to  make  a  declaration  of  his  in- 
tention to  the  judge  of  the  parish  where  he  resides;  the  judge 
must  order  notice  of  it  to  be  published  during  forty  days  by 
advertisement  posted  at  the  door  of  the  court-house  ;  and  if,  at 
the  expiration  of  this  delay,  no  opposition  be  made,  he  shall 
authorize  the  master  to  pass  the  act  of  emancipation. 

Ibid.  Art.  185.  "No  one  can  emancipate  his  slave  unless 
the  slave  has  attained  the  age  of  thirty  years,  and  has  behaved 
well  at  least  for  four  years  preceding  his  emancipation,"  except 
(Art.  186)  "  a  slave  who  has  saved  the  life  of  his  master,  his 
master's  wife  or  one  of  his  children  ;  "  for  such  a  one  "  may  be 
emancipated  at  any  age." 

Under  the  Civil  Code  of  Louisiana  slaves  under  thirty  years 
of  age  may  be  emancipated  by  their  masters  with  the  consent  of 
a  jury.  The  tribunal  to  act  upon  this  petition  consists  in  New 
Orleans,  of  the  recorder  and  council  of  the  municipality,  and  in 
the  other  portions  of  the  State  of  a  police  jury,  composed  of  a 
president  and  eight  or  twelve  members,  who  hold  their  offices 
for  two  years  and  are  elected  by  ballot.  Three-fourths  of  either 
of  these  tribunals,  in  addition  to  the  respective  presiding  of- 
ficer, determine  upon  the  merits  of  the  claim  set  forth  in  the 
petition.  After  consent  of  jury  he  must  proceed  by  usual 
course. — Ed. 


I92  BOB    COVINGTON 

that  any  slave  unclaimed  for  ten  years,  is  a  slave  no 
longer,"  observes  Covington,  a  gleam  of  hope  in  his 
voice. 

"That  is  if  they  had  been  resident  in  Louisiana  all 
the  time,  and  furthermore,  if  they  are  over  thirty  years 
°f  age.  Besides,  these  deeds  of  manumission  show 
they  have  been  claimed.  It  will  not  apply,  you  see,"  re- 
turns Martineau.  "Neither  was  their  mother  treated 
as  a  slave  by  Tournay  after  he  married  her;  but  she 
died  after  nine  years  of  married  life,  and  besides  she 
was  also  under  thirty.  There  is  no  way  that  you  can 
free  Louise  and  Nita  unless  you  manumit  them  accord- 
ing to  law,  and  with  public  notice." 

"  And  that  would  crush  Louise's  heart  with  shame 
and  prevent  my  keeping  my  promise  of  marriage  to 
her,"  mutters  Bob.  Then  he  goes  on:  '  Tell  me  all 
about  the  father  of  these  girls. " 

"  As  far  as  I  know,  these  are  the  only  facts  that  will 
interest  you  about  your  uncle,  Prosper  Delaunay  Tour- 
nay.  He  was  a  student,  a  savant,  a  poet,  a  selfish  sen- 
sualist, an  immense  egotist — a  man  of  tremendous  false 
pride — one  who  would  rather  keep  his  shameful  secret 
than  do  justice  to  his  offspring." 

"Do  you  know,  I  rather  think  it  must  have  been  this 
matter  that  made  my  mother  turn  her  back  upon  her 
brother?"  suggests  the  Kentuckian. 

"Perhaps,"  returns  the  lawyer,  "  though  there  was 
undoubtedly  some  sort  of  a  ceremony  between  him  and 
the  mother  of  these  young  ladies — performed,  I  imagine 
before  a  notary — probably  the  Poussin  who  apparently 
gave  Eulalie  his  name,  the  Poussin  who  sold  her,  Faval 
Bigore " 

"Oh,  yes;  don't  repeat  the  name  of  that  miserable 
whelp!"  mutters  Covington,  "by  the  Lord,  he's  the 
sharp  who  sells  tips  on  the  races,  the  one  who  gave 
me  his  dirty  card — the  dispenser  of  cock-fight  tickets !  " 
and  laughs  bitterly:  "  He  once  had  the  mother  of  my 
sweetheart  as  his  bondmaid  ?  Rather  a  curious  sort  of 
pauper  to  own  anything!  " 

"  Not  at  all.  This  man  you  speak  of  was  once  very 
rich,  He  was  a  trusted  agent  of  Lafitte,  the  pirate,  in 
early  days,  and  amassed  considerable  property,  all  of 


BOB    COVINGTON  193 

which  he  has  lost  through  gaming.  At  one  time  he 
had  many  slaves.  Perhaps  Eulalie  Camila  was  in  some 
illegitimate  way  entitled  to  bear  the  name  of  Poussin. 
God  knows!  she  may  have  been  his  own  offspring  by  a 
slave  mother.  It  was  a  wild,  reckless  country  in  those 
days;  plantations  miles  apart,  each  man  a  feudal 
baron  on  his  own  estate.  The  country  is  by  no  means 
closely  settled  now.  Thus  it  happens  that  no  one  in 
New  Orleans  has  the  slightest  suspicion  of  the  true 
status  of  these  two  young  ladies." 

"You've  kept  mighty  good  care  of  that,  I  hope," 
mutters  Bob,  brokenly. 

"Yes;  even  the  house  servants  do  not  guess.  To 
keep  expenses  down,  these  have  been  very  few. 
Mamon,  the  old  cook,  who  is  deaf  as  a  post,  Jacques, 
the  aged  gardener  and  man  of  all  work,  who  answers 
your  knock,  and  Manda,  the  dining-room  girl.  The 
coachman  sleeps  away  from  the  house.  Mrs.  Combes 
was  supposed  to  be  the  maid  of  Louise,  while  she  had 
charge  of  her.    Nothing  has  come  up  in  the  courts." 

"And  nothing  shall,  if  lean  prevent  it!"  returns 
Covington.  Then  he  says  meditatively :  "Tell  me  all 
about  this  man  Jarvis — this  cunning  attorney.  How 
did  he  nose  out  the  affair  and  bring  destruction  on 
me  ?" 

And  Arvid  Martineau  telling  him,  Bob  suddenly 
astounds  his  listener  by  saying:  "  I  rather  reckon  Mr. 
Kitson  Jarvis  is  my  man !  You  have  the  order  of  the 
court  appointing  me  guardian  for  Nita  Hortense 
Tournay  ? " 

"Yes,"  answers  Arvid,  handing  him  the  document; 
and  would  ask  further  questions,  but  Mr.  Kitson  Jar- 
vis is  announced. 

This  worthy  comes  in,  genial,  happy,  glowing  all 
over  and  chuckling:  "Ah,  my  dear  client.  No  hard 
feelings  now.  I  calculated  when  you  saw  all  I'd 
captured,  you'd  pray  for  me  this  evening.  Guess 
you've  been  shaking  hands  with  yourself  most  of  the 
time  lately.  You  young  bloods  are  impulsive,  enthusi- 
astic and  romantic,  but  when  it  gets  down  to  solid 
comfort  you  know  a  particularly  good  thing  as  well  as 
anybody.     Now  as  the  Tournay  estate  is  as  good  as 


194  BOB    COVINGTON 

yours  and  in  fact  in  your  possession — for  Martineau 
daren't  hold  it  one  minute  after  you  say  you  want  it — 
we'll  all  go  out  and  pop  a  champagne  cork.  Then  I'll 
make  the  demand  and  get  the  property  all  turned  over, 
and  with  your  permish — I'll  take  my  fee." 

But  here  Covington  horrifies  his  attorney.  He  says 
shortly:  "Martineau  may  admit  that  I'm  in  possession 
of  the  Tournay  estate,  but  I  won't!  I  believe  Prosper 
Tournay's  daughters  should  be  as  free  as  you  and  I — 
free  to  inherit  their  father's  wealth — free " 

As  this  oration  has  proceeded,  Jarvis's  eyes  have 
given  one  wild,  astounded  roll,  his  jaw  has  dropped. 
Now,  the  lower  one  flies  up  with  a  sudden,  startling 
snap. 

"Under  these  circumstances,"  he  interrupts,  in 
cold  determination,  "I  warn  you,  Martineau,  to  hold 
that  property.  I  bring  suit  to-morrow  morning  to 
put  you  in  possession,  Mr.  Robert  Covington;  and 
I  also  bring  action  for  my  fee,  ten  per  cent. — the 
estate  is  worth  $250,000.  Do  you  suppose  I'm  going 
to  be  euchred  out  of  my  money  when  I've  won  it,  be- 
cause you've  gone  crazy  and  romantic  and  willy-willow- 
ish?  An  inquiry  de  lunatico  is  what  I'll  get  out  for 
you,  my  client;  and,  hang  me,  if  I  think  the  jury  will 
be  long  in  adjudging  you  11011  compos  mentis  and — as 
crazy  as  a  March  hare!" 

Here  his  client  astonishes  the  attorney  again.  He 
says,  coolly:  "You  need  have  no  fear  of  your  fee. 
I'm  going  to  pay  that  out  of  my  own  pocket  to-night. 
I  will  give  you  my  check  for  ten  thousand  dollars  on 
the  Bank  of  Louisiana,  also  my  note  at  three  months, 
payable  at  the  same  institution — Martineau  will  indorse 
it — for  fifteen  thousand  dollars.  Will  that  be  accept- 
able to  you? " 

"Certainly!  with  Martineau's  indorsement  I  can 
negotiate  that  note  in  five  minutes  at  the  bank  to- 
morrow." 

"  Under  these  circumstances — having  nothing  more 
to  do  with  my  claims  to  the  Tournay  estate — you  will 
please  surrender  my  power  of  attorney. " 

So  the  necessary  papers  and  receipts  being  made, 
and  the  note  and  check"  being  given,   Mr.   Kitson  Jar- 


BOB    COVINGTON  I95 

vis  deposits  them  in  a  long,  black  pocket-book,  and 
carefully  buttoning  this  up  in  his  inner  pocket,  turns 
to  go,  saying:  "I'm  much  obliged  to  you.  No  hard 
feelings,  I  hope.  You'll  change  your  mind,  my  buck, 
in  a  day  or  two — you'll  take  the  good  things  I  and  the 
Lord  have  given  you.  Of  course,  this  highfalutin  senti- 
mental jamboree  is  kinder  to  grease  your  feelings — 
as  it  were — a  leetle  practical  joke  on  your  conscience. 

But,  for   all  that,    you're  not  quite  a  lunatic  and 

Supposing  we  go  out  and  pop  that  champagne  cork. 
You  won't  ? — Very   well — I'm  gone. " 

But  here  the  greatest  astonishment  of  his  life  comes 
to  Mr.  Jarvis.  Covington  says:  "Don't  go!  I've  got 
another  case  for  you." 

"Another  case?  "     As  good  a  one  as  this  ?  " 

"  Perhaps." 

"  The  Lord  be  good  to  me !  "  And  horses  could  not 
have  dragged  Mr.  Jarvis  from  out  that  office. 

"I'm  the  guardian  by  this  paper,  of  Nita  Hortense 
Tournay,  a  minor.  As  her  guardian  I  employ  you  to 
protect  her  interests  and  assert  her  lawful  claim  to 
freedom  of  life,  limb  and  body,  and  her  right  to  inherit 
from  her  father  direct,  as  next  of  kin." 

"  Humph!  "  mutters  the  lawyer,  and  sinks  down  in  a 
chair  and  begins  to  whistle  softly,  then  says  words  that 
make  Covington's  heart  like  lead:  "  I  won't  take  the 
case! " 

"Why  not?" 

"Not  on  a  continge?it  fee,  any  way!  There's  not 
one  chance  in  a  million  of  my  winning  it!  " 

"  Why  not?" 

"  Because  this  is  all  poppy-cock — fiddle-de-dee — no 
'count,  nonsense.  What  kind  of  a  case  could  we  bring 
into  court?  The  collateral  evidence  of  those  deeds  of 
the  Esplanade  property,  twice  supported  by  the  affidavit 
of  Poussin,  is  all  against  Nita  Hortense!  The  record 
of  the  bill  of  sale  of  the  mother,  the  father's  own  deed 
of  manumission — unsigned,  prove  that  Louise  and  Nita 
were  his  slaves,  and  that  he  wished  to  free  them. 
That  knocks  Nita  Hortense  sky  high!  We  can  t  attack 
the  fact  that  these  children  were  their  father's  property. 
Still,  I'll  take  Nita's  case,  but  not  on  a  contingent  fee  !  " 

"How  much?"  says  Bob,  hoarsely,  eagerly. 


196  BOB    COVINGTON 

"I  want  two  thousand  dollars  in  cash  and  three 
thousand  dollars  to  be  paid  if  I  win,  though  I  don't  re- 
gard that  last  as  cutting  any  figure.  '  I'll  sell  it  for  five 
dollars  now!  Still,  you've  been  pretty  square  and  lib- 
eral with  me  in  putting  you  in,  and  I'll  be  light  on  you 
in  trying  to  turn  you  out.  But  Lord!  This  hotspur 
frenzy  of  yours  won't  last,  Mr.  Covington!  You'll  be 
coming  to  me  in  a  day  or  two  and  suggesting  •  Can't  I 
have  some  of  that  retainer  back?  You'd  better  tear  up 
these  papers!  '  This  document  ain't  any  'count  any 
way;  a  girl  in  Nita's  condition  doesn't  need  a  guardian 
— can't  have  one.     You're  her  boss — her  owner." 

"Will  you  take  the  case?" 

"Yes! — for  the  two  thousand  dollars  I'd  take  most 
anything — and  work  for  it! — for  I'm  an  honest  lawyer! 
I  saved  a  cotton-press  man's  life  once,  when  I  knew  he'd 
committed  an  up  and  down  freeze-your-blood  murder! 
I  always  do  the  square  by  my  clients!  " 

"  Very  well,"  remarks  Bob.      I'll  pay  your  fee!  " 

And  he  does  so,  drawing  a  check;  though  the  ap- 
pearance of  his  bank  balance  afterward,  makes  the 
young  man  look  rather  glum.  "  Now,  Mr.  Jarvis,"  he 
says:   "give  me  your  best  views  of  the  matter!  " 

"Well,  my  best  views  on  the  matter  are  that  you  tell 
me  to  tear  up  this  check,  and  quit  making  a  darned 
fool  of  yourself." 

"  I  mean,  your  best  views  for  your  client,  Nita  Hor- 
tense  Tournay!  " 

Mr.  Kitson  guffaws,  puts  Covington's  last  check 
in  his  pocket-book,  beside  the  other  one,  buttons  his 
coat  up  and  says:  "  Do  you  mind  ordering  up  a  little 
of  the  right  stuff  and  having  a  few  cigars,  Martineau?" 
I  always  think  cuter  when  I'm  fuming,  but  ain't 
thirsty."  Then,  with  the  whisky  before  him,  and  a 
lighted  cigar  in  his  mouth,  Mr.  Jarvis  blows  out  the 
following  suggestions:  "There  is  still  one  chance, 
one  leetle  chance,  in  my  client  Nita's  favor.  We  can't 
attack  Prosper  Tournay's  title  to  the  girls;  our  only 
hope  is  to  attack  the  ownership  of  Faval  Bigore  Poussin 
to  their  mother,  Eulalie  Camila." 

"  Ah,  that's  the  idea!  Now  you're  talking!  "  cries 
Bob,  excitedly. 


BOB    COVINGTON  197 

"Yes,  but  I'm  only  talking !  Bombarding  that  title 
is  shooting  at  a  very  long  range.  You  have  to  go 
back,  not  to  the  transfer  of  Eulalie  Camila  to  Pros- 
per Tournay,  but  to  the  time  when  the  girl  came 
into  Poussin's  hands  —  away  back  into  the  Dark  Ages. 
May  even  have  to  go  as  far  into  the  wilderness  as 
Jackson's  time —  the  battle  of  New  Orleans.  You  see, 
Eulalie  was  about  nineteen  years  old  —  so  the  bill  of 
sale  says — in  1832  ;  that  would  make  her  born  in  1813. 
It  isn't  so  distant  to  go  for  documentary  evidence,  but 
for  viva  voce  proof  —  personal  deposition — it  is  like 
trying  to  get  the  affidavit  of  Pocahontas,  as  to  whether 
she*was  ever  married  to  Captain  John  Smith.  Thirty 
years  ago  we  would  have  had  a  much  better  chance  of 
attacking  Poussin's  title ;  but  every  day  this  world  rolls 
round,  rubs  out  forty-year-old  parole  testimony  like 
blazes!"  Then  he  continues  earnestly,  addressing 
Martineau:  "  Tell  me  all  you  know  about  this  fellow, 
Poussin." 

And  theavocat  informing  him,  Jarvis  remarks:  "  It's 
all  against  us!  The  fellow  was  rich  at  that  time;  he 
had  plenty  of  slaves!" 

Here  seeing  how  Covington's  brow  lowers,  Mr.  Jarvis 
gives  him  a  word  or  two  of  hope.  He  observes: 
"  There's  one  thing  I  can  tell  you  to  chivvy  you  up  a  bit. 
Mrs.  Combes  told  me  this  afternoon  that  she  had  no 
doubt  that  Louise  had  purer  blood  and  whiter  blood 
than  any  of  us — regular  blue  blood — thorough  Castil- 
ian,  Hidalgo,  keep-your-hat-on-in-the-presence-of-the- 
King-of-Spain  article.  She  said  she  became  convinced 
of  this  when  she  had  charge  of  Louise."  "  There  has 
probably  been  some  deviltry  somewhere  back — about 
the  time  of  Cleopatra — but  how  are  we  going  to  find, 
much  more  prove  this,  by  satisfactory  evidence?  Mr. 
Covington,  to  all  legal  intents  and  purposes  you  might 
as  well  have  kept  yer  two  thousand  dollars.  You'd 
better  look  the  thing  right  in  the  face  and  have  papers 
made  out  to  free  these  two  girls  before  you  change 
your  mind." 

"  I  shall  never  change  my  mind !"  returns  Bob.  Then 
he  says  sternly :  ' '  Will  you  or  will  you  not  do  your  duty 
by  the  client  whose  money  you  now  have  in  your 
pocket — Nita  Hortense  Tournay?" 


198  BOB    COVINGTON 

I'll  do  my  duty  by  little  Nita,  as  I  would  if  she  were 
the  Queen  of  England  or  Venus  di  Medici,  or  a  nigger- 
wench!  The  minute  I  finger  my  retainer,  I'm  square. 
Watch  me!"  And  he  goes  to  the  door,  but  suddenly 
turns  back,  a  flash  in  his  eye,  and  remarks:  "You  say, 
Martineau,  that  this  chap  Poussin  was  once  an  agent 
for  Lafitte  and  his  band  of  buccaneers,  pirates,  smug- 
glers and  patriots  down  on  Barataria  Bay  ?  " 

"Yes!" 

"All  right  —  I'm  going  to  work!"  And  without 
further  explanation  Kitson  disappears,  whistling  softly ; 
leaving  Martineau  and  Covington  gazing  at  each 
other. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  matter?"  asks  Bob. 

"  That  you  have  probably  engaged  the  best  man  you 
could  have  found  for  your  purpose.  By  the  by,  how  are 
you  off  for  ready  money?" 

"  Pretty  flat  after  the  last  payment,"    mutters   Bob. 

"  I  have  sixty  thousand  dollars  for  the  Tournay 
estate  in  bank  at  present.  Do  you  want  any  of  it?" 
says  Martineau.  "  That  shows  what  I  think  of  the 
matter!" 

"Not  a  dime!" 

"Understand  me,"  remarks  the  avocat,  "that  when 
you  paid  Kitson  Jarvis  his  commission  for  obtaining 
you  the  Tournay  estates,  you  practically  acknowledged 
that  they  were  in  your  possession.  You  might  as  well 
look  the  matter  right  in  the  face.  All  this  Nita  busi- 
ness is  nonsense." 

"  It  is  my  one  hope  of  making  my  promise  good  to 
the  woman  I  love,"  cries  Bob.  "Good  night!"  And, 
Covington  strides  away. 

Looking  after  him,  Martineau  shrugs  his  shoulders 
and  mutters:  "  Most  of  his  ready  money  gone!  $60,000 
in  bank  for  him — two  fine  plantations  and  city  prop- 
erty— an  exquisitely  beautiful  slave  whom  he  loves  and 
who  loves  him!  Parbleu!  There  is  a  very  great 
temptation  ahead  of  my  young  gentleman!  " 

But  the'Tempter  has  not  yet  quite  come  home  to 
Bob  Covington.  He  strides  off  to  the  Orleans  Club, 
wishing  to  forget  the  matter,  but  does  not. 

The  rooms  of  that  brilliant  establishment  are  not  very 


BOB    COVINGTON  1 99 

full  It  is  now  well  along  in  April ;  a  good  many  of  the 
habituh  are  either  flitting  to  the  soft  gulf  breezes  at 
Pass  Christian  or  to  Northern  watering  places.  The- 
racing  contingent  have  all  gone  away;  a  great  many  of 
them,  Kentuckians  principally,  having  dropped  all 
their  winnings  of  the  first  race,  and  more  besides, 
upon  the  last  one,  when  their  colt  suffered  defeat. 

However,  Mr.  Covington  meets  young  Hector  Soule 
and  McBurney,  and  sits  down  to  talk  to  them,  the 
Major  chatting  to  him  of  the  fearfully  bad  luck  of  his 
friend  Talliaferro  on  the  fatal  Saturday  on  which  Le- 
comte  reversed  the  verdict. 

Soule  telling  him  that  La  Farge  is  now  in  Havana, 
and  suggesting:  "  Your  trial  as  a  second  won't  amount 
to  much.  You  didn't  kill  Delaborde,  whose  death  is 
regarded  here  as  a  public  blessing.  But  shove  your 
case  along,  so  Henri  can  judge  whether  it  is  best  for 
him  to  return  immediately  or  send  for  Alma." 

"Alma?     Who  is  she?" 

"Why,  didn't  you  know,"  remarks  Hector,  "that 
Henri  had  placted.  to  him  about  six  months  ago  Alma 
de  Careno?  She  was  not  a  slave.  In  fact  old  Careno 
is  quite  a  rich  man;  still  there's  a  tinge  of  African 
descent  in  the  family,  which,  of  course,  permits  no 
other  union.  The  girl  adored  La  Farge,  and  accord- 
ing to  the  old  Creole  custom  it  was  the  only  thing 
that  permitted  her  happiness — a  practical  marriage, 
without  the  oeremony.  Henri  is  very  anxious,  if  he  is 
compelled  to  remain  away  from  New  Orleans,  that  she 
should  join  him.  They've  a  very  pretty  little  place  on 
Ursulines  Street ;  old  Careno  settled  that  upon  the 
young  lady,  and  gave  her  a  grand  ball  as  the  usual 
send  off.  I  was  there;  so  were  nearly  all  the  bloods 
of  New  Orleans;  but,  of  course,  Henri's  mother  and 
sister,  though  they  knew  of  the  affair,  were  not  pres- 
ent." 

"  Do  you  think  Henri  loves  her? " 

"  Devotedly." 

"  And  the  young  lady  ?  " 

"  She  will  be  as  true  to  him  as  if  fifty  priests  had 
said  service  over  them." 

But  this  talk  of  a  beautiful  woman  and  love  and  de- 
votion sets  Bob's  heart  to  beating. 


200  BOB    COVINGTON 

He  gets  up,  bidding  his  friends  good  night,  and  re- 
fusing offers  of  play  wanders  out  of  the  club-house. 

He  thinks  New  Orleans  is  a  deucedly  slow  place,  as 
from  the  very  force  of  habit  his  steps  turn  toward 
the  Tournay  residence.  He  sees  no  light  in  the  salon 
windows. 

Then  suddenly  a  wave  of  anxiety  goes  over  him  and 
he  thinks:  "Great  Taylor!  I  haven't  heard  how 
Louise  is  for — for  four  hours!"  and  would  cross  the 
street  and  make  personal  inquiry,  but  checks  him- 
self and  mutters:  "  No — that  infernal  promise!  "  and 
strides  rapidly  back  to  the  Verandah  Hotel,  where 
getting  hold  of  Mr.  Caesar  he  sends  him  off  with  a  hur- 
ried note  to  Mrs.  Joyce.  It  is  not  very  late;  only  ten 
o'clock  in  the  evening — and  receiving  response  that 
there  is  no  fear  of  brain  fever  and  that  Louise  is  sleep- 
ing, Mr.  Covington,  worn  out  by  the  conflicting  emo- 
tions of  this  astounding  day,  turns  in  himself  and  tries 
to  sleep,  but  cannot. 

About  twelve  o'clock  he  dresses  again  and  goes  to 
the  Orleans  Club  and  there  spends  the  night  in  poker, 
with  very  bad  financial  results  to  himself;  for  it  re- 
quires a  calm  mind  and  a  cool  philosophy  to  success- 
fully dally  with  chips,  red,  blue  and  white. 

At  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  from  this  game,  he 
strolls  out  upon  the  streets  of  New  Orleans.  A  flower- 
girl,  with  bunches  of  beautiful  blossoms,  puts  an  idea 
into  his  head;  he  goes  to  a  florist  in  the  French  mar- 
ket, and  orders  delivered  to  Miss  Louise  Tournay  each 
morning  a  bouquet  of  the  same  beautiful  white  roses 
and  orange  blossoms  that  had  been  sent  by  him  during 
his  New  York  absence,  but  had  been  kept  from  the 
captive  fearing  they  would  drive  her  to  despair. 

These  blossoms  have  a  different  effect  to-day. 

While  he  tries  to  eat  his  breakfast  at  the  hotel  a  note 
comes  from  Mrs.  Joyce,  which  makes  him  very  happy, 
and  reads  as  follow: 
You  Darling  Good  Fellow  : 

I'd  like  to  get  hold  of  you  to  kiss  you  myself  !  Those  orange 
blossoms  have  been  a  better  tonic  to  Louise  than  all  the  doctor's 
medicines.     She  is  now  asleep,  the  flowers  in  her  hand. 

In  a  day  or  two  she  will  probably  be  well  enough  to  see  you. 
Then  I  don't  believe  she'll  let  you  keep  that  promise. 


BOB    COVINGTON  201 

By  the  by,  how  about  Nita  ?   Am  I  empowered  to  get  masters 
for  her?     The  child  should  not  lose  her  schooling. 

Yours  admiringly, 

PAMELA  JOYCE. 
Comforted  by  this  note,  poor  Bob  turns  in  and  con- 
trives to  get  a  few  hours'  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

TWO    PECULIAR    ADVERTISEMENTS. 

Notwithstanding,  Mr.  Covington  doesn't  look  very 
spry  and  cute;  so  Mr.  Jarvis  thinks  when  he  meets 
him  at  Martineau's  office  in  the  afternoon. 

"I  have  brought  over,"  says  the  attorney,  "some 
things  that  belong  to  ye."  He  hands  Bob  a  box  con- 
taining all  Louise's  money  and  jewelry  that  had 
been  filched  from  her;  also,  a  little  pocket-book  with 
"Nita"  on  it  in  silver  letters,  containing  the  poor 
child's  wealth,  that  had  been  garnisheed  by  the  keen 
Mrs.  Combes.      "Your  property,  I  reckon." 

"  I  suppose  so — for  the  present,"  answers  his  client, 
with  a  sigh.     Then  he  says:   "Any  evidence?" 

"Nix!" 

"Why  don't  you  get  to  work?" 

"Get  to  work?  So  I  am!  But  when  a  man  is 
groping  about  for  a  pin  in  a  coal-hole  on  a  dark  night, 
and  there  is  no  pin,  he's  going  to  do  some  looking 
before  he  finds  it.  Still,  I'm  lighting  a  candle  to  blink 
about  for  it."  And  he  goes  away,  leaving  Covington 
looking  glumly  at  poor  Louise's  and  Nita's  wealth, 
that  is  now  his. 

"You  don't  seem  very  well,"  remarks  Martineau. 

' '  No !  My  blood  boils  when  I  think  of  this  business ! 
See!  what  has  been  filched  from  them — poor  little 
Nita's  pocket-book,  with  a  paltry  twenty  dollars  that  I 
gave  the  child  in  New  York,  and  this  ring  I  placed 
upon  Louise's  finger.     I'm  their  robber — not  Jarvis!  " 

"  Not  at  all,  my  dear  boy!  It  is  the  law,  '  mutters 
the  avocat.  "  And  you  are  acting  more  nobly  than  any 
one  I  ever  guessed  would  under  such  circumstances. 


202  BOB    COVINGTON 

A  sleepless  night,  eh?  You'll  have  more  of  them.  Now 
go  off  and  get  some  rest." 

"  Not  till  I  have  returned  these." 

"You  are  going  to  the  Tournay  residence?  " 

"I  have  to!  I  must  arrange  about  Nita's  school- 
ing." 

Glancing  after  him,  Martineau,  with  a  French  shrug 
of  his  shoulders,  thinks :  \ '  Poor  fellow !  Nibbling  round 
the  bait  now.     I  very  much  fear  for  his  last  promise." 

And  it  is  in  danger! 

As  he  raises  the  knocker  of  the  Tournay  house  at 
two  o'clock  this  afternoon,  Bob  Covington  has  but  one 
thought:  "  She  is  upstairs!  " 

A  servant  answering  his  summons,  however,  he  sim- 
ply sends  his  card  to  Mrs.  Joyce,  and  the  man  return- 
ing, announces  that  lady  will  see  him. 

A  moment  after,  Pamela  comes  into  the  salon  and 
beams  on  him  through  her  spectacles,  whispering: 
"You  noble,  whole-souled  darling  boy!  I  can't  tell 
you  what  happiness  those  white  blossoms  gave  to  your 
— your  fiancee !  "  Then  she  goes  on:  "I  think  you 
will  have  to  forget  your  last  promise — the  one  she  did 
not  hear.  In  two  or  three  days,  Louise  will  be  able  to 
see  you;  if  you  do  not  come,  she  will  not  understand, 
and  will  droop  again.  You  caught  her  heart  tighter, 
young  man,  in  your  last  few  words  than  you  ever 
caught  it  before,  much  as  she  loved  you." 

This  makes  Covington  hold  up  his  head,  which  has 
been  rather  long-faced  during  the  first  part  of  the 
day. 

"We  will  consider  that  last  promise  of  mine  when 
Louise — Miss  Tournay — is  well  enough  to  see  me,"  he 
answers.  "At  present,  I  have  brought  you  these 
trinkets  that  were  taken  from  her,  and  Nita's  little 
pocket  money  of  which  that  woman  robbed  the  child." 

"  Which  she  has  been  in  want  of,  I  think,"  laughs 
Mrs.  Joyce.  The  child  has  been  anxious  for  bon- 
bons." 

Just  at  this  moment,  Nita,  entering,  lends  embarrass- 
ment to  the  interview.  She  comes  up  in  unaffected 
artlessness,  gives  Mr.  Covington  a  confiding  kiss,  and 
prattles:  "  Won't  you  take  me  for  a  walk,  Cousin  Bob  ? 


B02    COVINGTON  203 

Mrs.  Joyce  doesn't  know  whether  you  would  like  me 
to  go  out  alone.  She  says  I  must  do  everything  you 
wish!  " 

"And  why  ?  "  laughs  Covington. 

"Because  you're  my  master,  I  guess.  They  don't 
want  me  to  talk  about  it,  but  I  know  it.  You  needn't 
look  unhappy— I'm  not  afraid  of  you.  Louise  is, 
though!  Goodness!  how  she  kissed  your  flowers  this 
morning,  and  then  looked  scared.  I  love  you,  but  I 
shouldn't  care  if  you  were  angry  with  me." 

"Tush!"  cries  Mrs.  Joyce,  breaking  in.  "You 
don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about!  " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  do.  He  is  our  master."  Then  turning 
her  big  eyes  on  Bob  she  says  in  childish  trust: 
"You're  not  going  to  be  stern  and  strict  and  cruel 
with  us,  like  the  servants  in  the  kitchen  say  some 
people  are? " 

"  Great  snakes !  You  haven't  been  talking  to  them  ?  " 
asks  Bob,  aghast. 

"No,  but  I  have  been  asking  questions;  I  was 
anxious  to  know."  • 

"  Then  for  God's  sake  don't  think  any  more  about 
this  wretched  business.  Only  when  you  want  any- 
thing or  have  any  favor  to  ask,  come  to  me  and  I  will 
do  it." 

"Will  you?"  cries  Nita,  taking  him  at  his  word. 
"  Very  well.  In  Canal  Street  I  am  told  that  they  sell 
the  finest  biscuit  glace"  in  the  world.  Will  you  get  me 
some?" 

"  Lots  of  it — and  bonbons  besides!  Anything  else 
you  want!  "  cries  Bob,  delighted. 

And  this  hard  hearted  serfholder  takes  his  little 
chattel,  who  walks  with  him  her  hand  confidingly  in  his, 
to  the  finest  confectioner  on  the  great  thoroughfare, 
and  loads  her  down  with  enough  goodies — as  Mrs. 
Joyce  remarks  after  they  get  home — "to  make  her 
sick  for  a  week!  " 

Then  Pamela  telling  him  Louise  will  be  well  enough 
to  be  up  the  next  day,  Mr.  Covington  departs. 

But  his  condition  of  mind  is  still  unfavorable  to  suc- 
cessful poker,  and  passing  the  night  in  playing,  with 
more  bad  luck,  the  next  morning,   instead  of  going  to 


204  BOB    COVINGTON 

Martineau's,  he  walks  into  Jarvis's  office  on  Lafayette 
Street  and  demands:   "What  have  you  been  doing?" 

' '  Well,  look  at  the  Crescent, "  remarks  Kitson.  ' '  Do 
you  see  those  ads  I  have  underlined  ?     Read  'em." 

Examining  the  columns  of  the  paper,  Mr.  Coving- 
ton notes  two  curious  advertisements,  one  reading: 

A  meeting  of  all  who  have  sought  for  the  buried  treasures 
of  Lafitte  is  called  at  the  office  of  Wells  &  Burnham,  No.  25 
Conti  Street,  at  10  o'clock,  April  25.  Something  of  great  inter- 
est to  all  who  have  sought  for  the  buccaneer's  lost  treasure  has 
been  discovered. 

The  second,  in  another  column  of  the  paper,  is: 

PENSIONS. 

It  is  expected  the  next  Congress  will  pass  a  special  bill  for 
the  pensioning  of  the  survivors  of  Lafitte's  band,  who  fought 
with  such  gallantry  under  Jackson  at  New  Orleans.  Imme- 
diate registration  in  advance  will  be  of  great  benefit  to  any  of 
the  survivors  of  the  once  famous  "  Company  of  the  Gulf." 
Please  apply  at  the  office  of  Bookman  &  Caldwell,  pension 
agents,  138  Magazine  Street,  April  27,  from  10  a.m.  to  1  p.m. 
All  failing  to  report  that  day  must  wait  until  after  the  act  is 
passed. 

" What  the  deuce  do  these  mean?"  asks  Bob,  as- 
tounded. 

'*  These  are  in  the  interests  of  our  little  Nita  Hor- 
tense,"  remarks  Jarvis,  contemplatively.  "  I  am  now 
acting  on  the  only  supposition  that  will  make  her  case 
a  possible  one;  that  is,  that  she  has  no  negro  or  Indian 
blood  whatsoever  in  her  veins,  and  is  absolutely  de- 
scended from  white  parents,  all  the  way  down  from 
Adam  and  Eve.  Now  the  question  is,  how  a  white 
child  or  white  girl  might  become  a  slave;  of  course 
only  through  the  villainy  and  rascality  of  some  cuss 
who  put  her  in  that  false  position.  This,  I'm  sorry  to 
say,  has  been  done  by  unscrupulous  speculators  more 
than  once,  commencing  with  that  fellow  Turnbull*  and 
his  Florida  land  grant  in   1767;  when  he  induced  five 

*  In  1767  Dr.  Turnbull,  obtaining  a  grant  of  land  in  Florida, 
paid  four  hundred  pounds  sterling  to  the  Governor  of  Modon  in 
Greece  and  received  permission  to  convey  sundry  families 
from  that  country  for  colonization.  He  also  brought  a  number 
from  Corsica  and  Minorca,  luring  them  from  their  homes  with 
promises  of  gift  of  lands,  provisions,  and  clothing. 

Worn  out  by  the  passage  of  four  months,  many  of  them  were 


BOB    COVINGTON  205 

hundred  Greeks,  Corsicans  and  Minorcans  and  their 
families  to  take  passage  from  the  Mediterranean  in  his 
vessels  and  planted  them  in  New  Smyrna,  surrounded  by 
Seminoles,  alligators,  and  rattlesnakes.  Here  he  made 
them  his  slaves,  working  them  under  the  lash  and  sell- 
ing a  number  of  their  daughters  of  pure  Greek  and 
Minorcan  blood  into  slavery  in  various  places  in  the 
South. 

"  Next  there  is  the  regulation,  low-down  kidnapping 
of  poor  white  children,  though  this  has  not  been  very 
frequent,  I'm  happy  to  say.  But  Nita's  only  chance 
is  on  the  Andalusian,  Castilian,  blue-blood  theory, 
which  bears  out  Mrs.  Combes's  idea  in  regard  to  the 
girls.  Acting  on  that,  I  have  been  figuring  out  where 
and  how  Poussin  might  have  obtained  Eulalie  Camila 
as  a  child.  Being  the  agent  of  Lafitte,  whose  vessels 
scoured  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  and  captured  many  ships, 
some  of  'em  probably  with  white  children  on  board, 
may  possibly  have  put  some  girls  of  Caucasian  blood 
into  his  hands;  as  children,  they  couldn't  protect  them- 
selves, and  perhaps  he  turned  an  honest  penny  on  a 
few  of  them. 

"Now,  this  was  a  longtime  ago.  Going  into  the 
Dark  Ages  is  a  difficult  matter,  especially  for  personal 
evidence,  and  I  want  to  see  every  human  being  that 
may  by  any  chance  know,  if  any  such  thing  occurred.' 
Those   two    advertisements    will   bring   every   critter 

sick  when  they  arrived  on  the  American  coast.  These  people, 
of  pure  white  blood  and  many  of  them  of  former  social  ease — 
in  all  some  fifteen  hundred  souls — were  taken  into  the  interior 
of  Florida  and  settled  at  New  Smyrna.  They  were  to  work  for 
five  years  for  Turnbull. 

Here  they  were  governed  and  harshly  treated  as  slaves  by 
Turnbull.  Many  who  had  been  in  affluence  in  their  own 
country  had  to  go  barefoot  through  the  year,  and  were  worked 
in  gangs  under  the  lash,  cruelties  equal  to  those  of  the  Spaniards 
otSan  Domingo  upon  the  Indians  of  that  island  being  inflicted 
on  them.  Among  other  outrages,  Turnbull  took  scores  of  the 
most  beautiful  daughters  of  these  people  and  sold  them  as 
slaves  in  the  American  colonies  and  Louisiana. 

Finally,  after  a  number  of  years  they  obtained  their  liberty 
by  appeal  to  the  English  authorities  of  St.  Augustine,  but 
Turnbull's  punishment  was  practically  nominal. 

Vide:  "  Se wall's  Sketches  of  St.  Augustine,"  unexpurgatcd 
edition,  "Our  World."  etc. — Ed. 


206  BOB    COVINGTON 

around  here  who  has  ever  dabbled  in  the  Lafitte  mat- 
ter, one  way  or  'tother.  I've  put  the  dates  of  both  of 
these  meetings,  very  close,  for  two  reasons:  First, 
you're  in  a  hurry  about  the  matter,  I  reckon.  Second, 
I  don't  want  anybody  to  write  on  to  Washington  and 
find  out  advertisement  No.  2  is  a  hoax.  Third,  because 
death  may  sweep  away  at  any  moment  the  parol  evi- 
dence that  might  be  vital.  These  veterans  of  the  bat- 
tle of  New  Orleans  are  growing  beautifully  less  day  by 
day." 

"  Do  you  think  anything  will  come  of  it?" 

"Humph!  When  you  throw  a  fishing-line  into  the 
water,  do  you  know  whether  you're  going  to  get  a 
fish?" 

' ;  I  don't  often, "  remarks  Bob.    "I'm  a  poor  angler. " 

"  Well,  say  that  you  want  to  find  a  fish  of  a  peculiar 
kind,  of  which  there's  only  one  swimming  in  the  waters 
of  the  whole  ocean,  and  that  fish  is  dead — what's  your 
chances?  I  have  no  doubt  I'll  get  lots  of  fish  with 
these  advertisements;  but  the  question  is  whether 
they'll  be  the  fish  I  want.  But  you'll  excuse  me  bid- 
ding you  good-day,  Mr.  Covington.  I'll  see  you  at 
Martineau's  office  on  the  afternoons  of  April  25th  and 
27th,  to  tell  you  what  turns  up  from  these  ads." 

From  this  interview  Covington  comes  away,  a  little 
more  cheerful.  At  all  events,  Kitson  is  trying  to  do 
something. 

But  this  waiting  with  no  hope  is  dreary  work.  The 
club  does  not  satisfy  him ;  the  city  seems  to  him  as  for- 
lorn as  when  it  had  the  plague  upon  it  the  year  before. 
Even  his  old  confreres  of  the  Orleans  Club  appear  to 
him  different,  and  he  seems  different  to  them.  They 
notice  that  Bob  Covington  has  grown  meditative  and 
is  no  more  the  dashing,  reckless,  light-hearted  fellow 
of  a  month  ago.  What  he  wants  is  the  sight  of  his 
bondmaid — his  sweetheart — his  love  of  loves,  Louise. 

So  a  little  time  runs  along,  each  day  Mrs.  Joyce  re- 
porting to  him  Louise  is  getting  stronger.  Finally  she 
writes  Louise  is  well  and  makes  him  very  happy,  but 
with  this  news  comes  a  shock. 

He  is  walking  along  Canal  Street,  its  banquettes 
thronged   with    people,   its   pavements   crowded  with 


BOB    COVINGTON  207 

carriages,  some  of  them  containing  gay  parties  bound 
to  the  Lake.  Suddenly  he  notices  the  cross-matched 
team  of  the  Tournay  equipage,  and  past  him  roll  Louise 
and  Mrs.  Joyce. 

Despite  his  promise  to  himself,  Bob's  eyes  will  turn 
to  this  being  he  adores ;  he  doffs  his  hat,  and  she,  seeing 
him,  half  rises  in  the  carriage  and  waives  a  daintily 
gloved  hand  in  recognition.  Robed  as  she  is  in  tight-fit- 
ting driving  dress,  Louise  is  patrician  from  the  plumed 
hat  that  is  perched  upon  her  dark  brown  locks  to  the 
perfectly  booted  little  foot  that  peeps  out  from  be- 
neath her  skirt. 

As  Covington  looks,  for  the  life  of  him  he  cannot 
help  thinking:  "  How  marvelous,  that  this  lovely,  high 
bred  creature  is  my  property  /" 

Just  then  their  eyes  meet.  For  one  moment  Louise's 
are  bright,  almost  radiant.  Suddenly  she  blushes 
painfully;  her  head  droops.  The  next  instant,  though 
her  face  is  pale,  her  eyes  gleam  with  mutinous  fire  and 
her  fair  head  is  carried  very  haughtily. 

Mrs  Joyce,  sitting  beside  her,  whispers:  "  What  is 
the  matter,  Louise?  At  first  you  looked  so  pleased  to 
see  Mr.  Covington;  now  you  seem  angry." 

"It  is  only  with  my  fate !  "  whispers  the  girl,  "  not 
with  him.  When  he  first  looked  at  me  his  eyes  said, 
1  Fiancee ' ;  but  afterward  they  said   '  Bondmaid. '  " 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself!"  cries 
Pamela,  indignantly.  "After  all  he  has  done  for  you  — 
all  he  is  trying  to  do  for  you  and  your  sister.  No  man 
was  ever  more  generous!  " 

"Perhaps  my  pride  makes  me  too  sensitive  ;  but, 
oh! — it  is  a  curious  thing  to  feel  you  do  not  belong  to 
yourself!"  Louise  mutters  with  a  shudder.  Then 
looking  at  her  pretty  glove,  she  says  bitterly:  "This 
hand  is  not  my  .own — it  is  his.  This  foot,"  she  taps 
the  tip  of  her  little  boot  with  a  parasol,  "is  his  also." 
He  has  but  to  say  the  word,  and  all  these  fine  things 
come  off,  and  I  go  to  waiting  in  his  kitchen  or  working 
in  his  cotton-field,  as  he  elects!  The  very  bread  I  put 
in  my  mouth  is  his.  The  money  I  spend  for  gloves  or 
bonbons,  is  his  also.  And  though  I  love  Bob  Coving- 
ton dearly, — very  dearly! — more  now  than  ever — still 


208  BOB    COVINGTON 

at  times  I  can't  help  rattling  my  gilded  chains."  And 
she  draws  the  breath  in  through  her  nostrils  like  a 
thoroughbred  curbed  too  tightly. 

As  for  the  owner  of  all  this  beauty,  something  in 
the  girl's  glance  has  made  him  ashamed  of  himself. 
He  mutters:  "Every  time  she'll  look  on  me,  my 
sweetheart  will  feel  the  humiliation  of  her  lot.  I'm 
glad  I  made  that  promise  not  to  see  her!"  adding 
doggedly,  "  I'll  keep  it,  too !  " 

This  he  does ;  the  Tournay  carriage  passes  him  again, 
but  he  doesn't  glance  toward  it,  though  Louise's  bright 
eyes  are  turned  almost  beseechingly  to  him !  Seeing  he 
will  not  look,  the  young  lady  laughs  a  little,  then  jeers 
to  Mrs.  Joyce:  "Mr.  Covington  doesn't  seem  much 
interested  in  his  property" 

This  evening,  as  luck  will  have  it,  Bob  runs  across 
another  very  beautiful  young  lady.  He  has  finished  a 
morose  and  dejected  dinner  at  the  Verandah,  and 
wandered  into  the  parlor  of  the  hotel,  which  is  not 
very  crowded,  wondering  what  he  will  do  to  kill  time 
this  lonely  evening,  when  a  very  handsome,  dashing 
and  splendidly  dressed  girl  comes  toward  him,  followed 
by  a  gentleman  of  slouch  hat  and  military  bearing. 
"Dad,  here's  Mr.  Covington!  "  she  cries;  then  says, 
in  easy  intimacy :  "What  are  you  doing,  Bob,  in  this 
hot  city? "  and  the  Kentuckian  finds  himself  with  Miss 
Johnson's  hand  in  his. 

"Why,  Miss  Sally!"  remarks  the  gentleman  ad- 
dressed. "  That's  just  what  I  was  going  to  ask  you. 
You've  come  from  Louisville,  haven't  you?" 

"  No,  from  Texas.  Father's  got  millions  of  acres 
there." 

"Five  hundred  thousand,  my  dear  child,"  corrects 
General  Sam  Johnson,  then  goes  on:  "I  have  a  big 
ranch  near  Galveston,  Mr.  Covington,  but  land  is  the 
only  thing  that  is  not  valuable  in  Texas."  As  he 
shakes  hands,  he  continues:  "  They're  going  to  run 
you  for  Congress  next  election  in  the  Blue  Grass  dis- 
trict, I  understand!" 

"  I  hope  so,"  says  Bob,  cheerily. 

"Well,  count  on  my  support." 

"And  mine  also!"  says  Miss  Sally,  enthusiastically. 


&OB    COVINGTON  209 

Then  she  asks:     "You've  come  from  Lexington?" 

"No,  from  New  York." 

"Pretty  cousin  in  New  York?"  laughs  the  young 
lady,  archly. 

"No,  pretty  cousin  is  here." 

"Ah,    that's   the   reason    you've    come    from    New 
York?"    says    Miss    Sally.       Then    she   adds:       "We 
shall  be  here  for  a  day    or   two;    supposing   you   take 
me  to  see  the  pretty  cousin — Miss    Tournay,   I  be 
lieve?" 

In  his  excitement  and  agony  Covington  has  scarcely 
realized  the  immensity  of  the  awful  social  gulf  that 
separates  his  love  from  women  of  his  rank  and  class  in 
life — that  a  social  taint  is  on  his  sweetheart  that  he 
may  ignore  but  cannot  efface — that  to  introduce 
Louise  to  this  young  lady  who  is  talking  so  easily  to 
him  would  now  be  cons'dered  by  her  father  and  Miss 
Johnson's  friends  an  act  of  which  no  gentleman  could 
be  guilty  and  an  insult  for  which  even  his  blood  could 
not  atone.  His  face  shows  the  harrowing  misery  of 
the  thought. 

"You — you  are  not  well,  Mr.  Covington?"  asks 
Miss  Johnson,  anxiously. 

"Yes — I  am  well — but  Miss — Miss  Tournay  is  not — 
at  least  not  well  enough  to  receive  visitors,"  he  mutters. 

The  girl  looking  at  him  and  noting  his  embar- 
rassment, thinks:  "Aha!  Refused!  Dashing  Bob 
Covington  has  met  his  Waterloo  at  last.  But  I'll  take 
pity  on  him  for  a  day  or  two,"  and  suggests:  "What 
are  you  thinking  of  doing  this  evening  ?  Papa  is  going 
to  take  me  to  the  Amphitheatre.  Tony  Denier,  the 
celebrated  clown,  will  perform,  and  Mile.  Seraphine 
will  do  her  wonderful  butterfly  dance  on  horseback. 
The  steed,  if  not  the  lady,  should  attract  a  Blue  Grass 
man." 

"  It  does  !  "  says  Covington.      "Supposing  I " 


"Go  with  us  ?  That  will  be  delightful.  Dad  won't 
bother  us  much,"  whispers  the  young  lady,  taking  his 
arm. 

So  the  two  go  off  to  the  Amphitheatre,  and  "Dad" 
doesn't  bother  them  much,  for  practically  it  is  a  tHe-a- 
tete,  Gen.  Sam  Johnson  walking  to  the  bar  with  great 


2IO  BOB    COVINGTON 

regularity  between  acts  and  permitting  his  charming 
daughter  and  Mr.  Covington  plenty  of  opportunity  for 
confidential  chat,  which,  of  course,  drifts  into  a  petite 
flirtation. 

Afterward,  they  have  a  very  pleasant  supper  at 
Moreau's  restaurant,  Mr.  Baldwin,  of  Mississippi, 
joining  them,  together  with  his  sister,  a  fragile-looking 
Vicksburg  girl.  The  consequence  is  that  a  party  is 
formed  to  go  to  the  lake  the  next  afternoon,  and  Mr. 
Covington,  looking  into  the  beautiful  eyes  and  under 
the  influence  of  the  persuasive  tongue  of  a  very  pretty 
girl,  and  mighty  happy  to  get  some  respite  from  his 
own  anxieties,  consents  to  escort  Miss  Sally  Johnson. 

The  next  afternoon  they  all  drive  to  Spanish  Fort, 
where  the  rest  of  the  party  have  a  delightful  even- 
ing, and  Bob  kills  time,  though  his  heart  would  be 
nearly  broken  did  he  but  know  the  effect  his  excursion 
has  produced. 

Just  before  dusk,  as  their  big,  open  carriage  has 
turned  into  the  shell-road,  a  closed  vehicle  containing 
Louise,  upon  her  second  drive  of  renewed  health  and 
strength,  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Joyce,  has  passed  it. 
Bob's  eyes  being  on  the  beautiful  Miss  Johnson,  who 
sits  beside  him  on  the  box,  he  has  not  noticed  his 
bondmaid  fiancke — but  Louise  has  seen  him. 

Suddenly,  Pamela  wonders  at  a  little  muffled,  plain- 
tive cry  and  a  slight  ringing  of  fair  hands,  for  the  girl 
is  murmuring  to  herself  bitterly,  hopelessly:  "Is  it 
his  promise  that  keeps  him  from  me?" 

"The  cruel  villain!"  thinks  Mrs.  Joyce.  And  eye- 
ing through  her  specs  viciously  the  back  of  the  de- 
parting Covington,  she  takes  the  sufferer  to  her  heart. 

Next  morning,  the  "cruel  villain"  is  interviewed 
in  the  parlor  of  his  hotel  by  an  irate  Yankee  lady 
whose  specs  flash  fire,  and  Bob  Covington  discovers 
there  is  decided  latent  force  in  Mrs.  Joyce's  prim  face 
when  the  ex-schoolmistress  thinks  occasion  calls  for  it. 

She  thus  addresses  him:  "  Look  here,  young  man; 
do  you  think  you  are  doing  your  duty?  " 

"What  duty?" 

The  answer  that  comes  from  this  old  abolitionist  lady 
takes  away  the  slaveholder's  breath:     "The  duty  of 


BOB    COVINGTON  211 

exercising  your  authority  as  master  over  those  two 
girls." 

"What?" 

"  I  know  you,  in  your  generous  heart,  have  told  Mar- 
tineau  that  you  will  hold  him  harmless  for  letting  them 
have  all  the  money  they  require.  But  that  is  not  every- 
thing. Nita  is  perfectly  uncontrollable.  She  says  you 
are  her  only  boss — nice  word  for  a  little  girl  to  use — 
picked  up  in  the  kitchen — and  she  runs  around  in  the 
streets  just  as  she  pleases." 

"  But  cannot  Louise  control  her?  " 

Here  Mrs.  Joyce  shocks  him  a  second  time,  by  say- 
ing: "  Can  a  nothing  control  a  nothing?  Nita  says  that 
you  are  as  much  her  sister's  boss  as  you  are  hers.  Only 
yesterday  I  heard  her  tell  Louise :  '  We've  both  got  to 
skip  the  line  when  Cousin  Bob  swings  the  rope.'  " 

"Hang  it,  Madame,  I'm  not  running  a  nursery!" 
cries  Bob,  excitedly.  "I  give  you  the  authority!  You 
make  Nita  skip  the  rope!  " 

"And  who  will  make  Louise  skip  the  rope?"  laughs 
Mrs.  Joyce,  then  she  adds:  "  She  will  do  it  for  you 
very  gracefully  and  very  docilely." 

"  I  don't  want  to  control  her — I  only  want  to  guard 
and  protect  her." 

"As  Louise  is  placed,  to  guard  her  you  must  con- 
trol her!  " 

"Great  Lord!  Boss  my  sweetheart  ?  I  ain't  built 
that  way,  Madame! "  mutters  Covington,  rising  as  if  to 
conclude  the  interview. 

"Oh  yes,  you  are;  but  you  don't  want  the  trouble. 
With  you  it's  heroics  at  your  lawyer's  and  poker  at 
your  club,"  says  Pamela  savagely.  Then  she  rises, 
too,  and  whispers  in  his  ear:  "  Besides,  you're  breaking 
her  heart  by  your  neglect." 

"  Breaking  her  heart  ?  " 

"Yes..  This  morning  I  thank  God  that  your  white 
roses  and  orange  blossoms  came  as  usual,  otherwise  I 
think  Louise  would  have  been  sick  again." 

"  Sick  ?     You  astonish  me!     Why  so  ?  " 

"Last  night  she  saw  you  riding  with  that  beautiful 
Miss  Johnson  of  Louisville.  Louise  cannot  command 
your  attentions — think  of  that!     If  you're  the  gener- 


212  BOB    COVINGTON 

ous  fellow  I  believe  you,  prove  it  by  giving  them  to 
her.  Boss  the  Tournay  house — take  personal  direc- 
tion of  Louise  and  by  your  care  of  her  show  that  you 
love  her.     Will  you  ?  " 

"  I'd — I'd  rather  not  try  it  ?  "  says  poor  Bob,  nerv- 
ously. 

"  You  must  !     Read  this  letter  and  see  you  must!  " 
And  Pamela  hands  him  this: 
My  Dear  Bob  : 

I  dorit  want  you  to  keep  your  promise — I  mean  the  last  one. 
The  first  is  my  glory  and  sustenance — the  last  is  my  despair. 
I  know  your  generous  reason,  but  I  must  write  this,  even  if  you 
chide  me  for  it.  You  have  a  duty  to  me  as  my  master  just  the 
same  as  I  have  to  you  as  your  slave.  I  demand  you  fulfill  your 
duty. 

Something  that  occurred  last  night  shows  me  I  not  only  must 
have  your  guidance,  but  protection.  I  don't  mean  because  I, 
lonely  and  deserted,  saw  you  in  the  society  of  a  young  lady  of 
your  own  rank — though  that  would  have  broken  my  heart  had 
it  not  been  for  those  dear  white  flowers  that  came  as  usual  to 
remind  me  of  your  other  pledge  that  makes  me  happy,  even  in 
my  trouble. 

I  know  the  underlined  words  in  this  letter  are  those  that  you 
forbade.  But  come  to  me,  even  if  you  chide  me,  even  if  you 
punish  me;  your  sternest  government  would  be  better  than  your 
neglect,  which  is  despair  to 

Your  loving,  devoted,  and  helpless 

LOUISE. 

"  Why — how — does  she  need  my  protection  ?  Hang 
me  if  I  can  understand !  "  ejaculates  Covington  with 
knit  brows. 

Then,  to  him  Pamela  tells  a  little  incident  that  oc- 
curred the  night  before,  at  which  he  utters  muttered 
anathemas  and  looks  very  serious.  "Louise  will  ex- 
plain it  to  you  more  fully,"  continues  Mrs.  Joyce. 
"  But  you  can  see  that  you  have  a  duty  to  perform. 
Will  you  do  it  ?  " 

"I  will  !"  says  Bob,  determinedly.  " You  tell  my 
darling  I  know  my  duty  now  and  that  I  will  do  it." 

And  as  Pamela  goes  away,  Mr.  Covington  walks 
about  the  room  with  anguish  in  his  eyes  and  uncertainty 
in   his  demeanor,  the  prerogatives  and  power  of  his 


BOB    COVINGTON  213 

proud  station  not  seeming  to  come  very  easily  to  this 
fly-away  Kentucky  politician  and  club  man  of  a  month 
before. 


BOOK  IV. 
How    He    Ruled    Her. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

isn't  it  wonderful  ?  " 


But  Bob  Covington  has  some  of  his  legal  heroics, 
as  Pamela  terms  them,  to  do  this  day  before  he  as- 
sumes the  reins  of  government. 

Even  now  he  feels  glad  that  he  has  determined  to 
''bust  that  promise!  "  The  sun  seems  brighter  to  him, 
the  town  more  cheerful,  as  he  goes  down  to  Martin- 
eau's  office  to  see  Jarvis  in  regard  to  the  effect  of  his 
advertisement  for  Lafitte's  veterans  of  the  battle  of 
New  Orleans ;  the  one  for  the  seekers  after  the  pirate's 
treasure  having  been  a  miserable  fiasco. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  25th,  Jarvis  had  come  into 
Martineau's  office,  his  coat  torn  and  one  or  two  sus- 
picious bruises  on  his  face. 

"  Did  many  of  the  treasure-seekers  of  Lafitte  turn 
up  at  the  office  of  Wells  &  Burnham?"  Covington,  who 
has  been  awaiting  him,  has  asked. 

"Yes.  Gol  darn  it!  I  acted  Wells,  and  I'll  never 
do  it  any  more.     I  hired  the  room  for  the  day." 

"  Were  there  many  there?  " 

"  Many?  Good  lord,  every  nigger  in  New  Orleans 
and  the  adjoining  parishes  came  en  bloc!  I  think 
most  of  the  'coons  round  here  have  done  nothing  on 
moonlight  nights  but  hunt  for  Lafitte's  treasure.  Any 
way,  there  were  enough  of  them  to  mob  me.  When  I 
told  'em  I  wanted  their  secret  information,  they  thought 
I  was  a  spy  to  sponge  the  knowledge  of  the  pirate's 
treasures  out  of  'em.     Well,  here  I  am — I'm  alive,  but 


BOB    COVINGTON  215 

that's  about  all.  However,  we'll  hope  for  better 
results  from  the  other  cusses;  there  weren't  many  nig- 
gers in  Lafitte's  band  any  way."  And  Jarvis  had  gone 
away. 

This  afternoon,  the  27th,  he  comes  more  cheerfully 
into  Martineau's  office,  and  says  to  the  eager  Bob: 
"The  pension  business  to-day  worked  a  leetle  better 
than  the  other.  I  had  a  thousand  liars,  perjurers 
and  villains  call  on  me,  and  six  ge?iuine  survivors  of 
Lafitte's  band;  besides  quite  a  delegation  of  widows 
and  daughters  and  offspring  of  the  late  lamented  pirate. 
No  less  than  ten  of  his  widows  turned  up;  Jean  must 
have  been  a  hummer!  And  among  the  six  veterans  was 
our  friend  Poussin  himself." 

"That's  great!"  mutters  Bob,  triumphantly. 

"Why?  It's  natural  enough  for  Faval  Bigore  to 
turn  up  for  his  pension.  There's  no  doubt  he  was  one 
of  Lafitte's  band.  That  don't  have  any  bearing  on 
this  case.  Poussin  turned  up  for  his  pension,  and  I 
tried  to  pump  him  — that's  where  I  made  a  fool  of  my- 
self! " 

"Did  he  disclose  anything?  " 

"Well,  all  he  would  disclose,  was  fighting  the  big 
gun  at  the  cotton-battery  and  performing  prodigies  of 
valor  under  Jackson.  No  —  nothing  out  of  Poussin. 
But  I  did  get  a  drop  of  information  from  one  of  the 
late  members  of  the  'Brotherhood  of  the  Gulf.'  It 
isn't  at  all  curious  those  fellows  don't  care  much  about 
blabbing  of  what  they  did  in  those  days;  though 
they've  been  pardoned  for  it.  A  fellow  named  Jack 
Goslyn  told  me  that  in  the  three  months  before  the 
battle  of  New  Orleans,  they  captured  several  vessels 
bound  from  Spanish  ports  and  one  English  bark.  All 
these  they  were  compelled  to  burn,  and  run  their 
cargoes  rapidly  up  into  the  interior,  on  account  of  the 
coming  of  the  English  squadron.  Furthermore,  that 
Poussin  was  one  of  the  agents  to  whom  these  goods 
were  entrusted,  and  that  he  believes  Poussin  never 
made  full  returns  for  the  property  put  in  his  hands  and 
is  the  biggest  liar,  scoundrel  and  sneak  thief  unhung. 
At  all  events,  all  the  veterans,  except  Poussin,  hate 
Poussin  and  think  he  robbed  them. 


216  BOB    COVINGTON 

"  I  made  some  guarded  queries  as  to  what  might 
have  been  the  fate  of  any  passengers  or  crews  of  these 
vessels,  but  Goslyn  didn't  seem  to  care  to  talk  much 
about  them.  He,  however,  told  me  that  any  niggers 
on  board  were  always  sold  up  the  country.  " 

''And  the  whites?  " 

"  Reckon  the  regulation  business  —  men  walked  the 
plank,  and  the  ladies   were  made  pirate-brides,  etc." 

"  This  doesn't  seem  to  lead  to  anything,"  mutters 
Covington. 

"No.  So  far  not  one  millionth  as  much  evidence 
as  that  which  let  you  walk  out  of  court  to-day,  charged 
with  being  an  accessory  before  the  fact  to  the  killing 
of  Jules  Delaborde.  Two  nigger  coachmen's  evidence 
weren't  good  against  whites.  A  near-sighted  German 
surgeon,  who  couldn't  see  anything  but  the  wounded 
man,  and  Monsieur  Albert  Montant,  Delaborde's 
second,  who  perjured  himself  after  the  usual  manner 
of  gentlemen.  Judge,  as  usual,  took  occasion  to 
strongly  condemn  the  barbarous  practice  of  dueling — 
that's  formula!  This  ought  to  be  good  news  for 
your  friend,    the  principal,  La  Farge. " 

"Then  you  don't  think  you  can  do  anything  for  little 
Nita,  I  suppose,"  mutters  Bob. 

"Well,  I  never  say  die,  as  long  as  the  cash  don't 
run  out."  And  Mr.  Jarvis  goes  into  a  brown  study, 
from  which  he  awakes  in  about  two  minutes,  and  says: 
"I  want  you  to  get  me  all  the  information  Miss  Louise 
can  give  you  about  her  mother." 

"  I— I  fear  I  can't  accommodate  you  immediately," 
remarks  Bob,  hesitating. 

"Oh  that  promise  of  yours  not  to  see  her  as  long 
as  you  are  her  master!"  jeers  Jarvis.  "  That's  bosh! 
You'll  have  to  see  her  some  day  and  you'll  be  her 
master  this  month — next  month — and  a  year  from  now. 
In  this  case  I  want  every  scrap  of  information  I  can 
get.  Not  that  I  think  there  is  any,  nohow.  Reckon, 
if  any  deviltry  did  take  place,  we'll  never  see  the 
witnesses  to  it  till  the  Day  of  Judgment.  Now  you 
get  me  the  information,  or,  if  not,  by  Coke  upon 
Lyttelton  I  throw  up  the  case!" 

"Very  well;  I'll  do  it,"  says  Bob,  delighted  at  an 
extra  reason  for  breaking  his  promise. 


BOB    COVINGTON  217 

1 '  Right  you  are !    Now  give  me  five  hundred  dollars  !" 

"What  do  you  want  them  for  ?" 

"Expenses!  You  bring  your  information  to  the 
Havana  steamer  at  four  o'clock  to-day;  I'll  meet  you 
there.  There's  a  chance,  your  report  may  just  send 
me  cracking  off  to  Spanish  parts.  Get  me  a  mini- 
ature if  you  can — though  I  don't  suppose  there's  any- 
thing of  the  kind — of  Eulalie  Camila But  where's 

that  five  hundred  ?" 

With  almost  a  groan,  Covington  writes  a  check;  for 
between  poker  and  Jarvis  and  his  payment  of  commis- 
sion for  a  great  estate  of  which  he  will  not  take  posses- 
sion, Bob  is  coming  very  close  to  mortgaging  his  Blue 
Grass  farm  about  this  time,  and  he  knows  it. 

But  Louise's  eyes,  shining  pure  as  stars  in  winter* 
still  beam  on  him  and  keep  him  to  his  purpose. 

The  thought  of  seeing  her,  takes  him  along  Dauphine 
street  quite  rapidly. 

Ten  minutes  after,  he  is  at  the  Tournay  residence ; 
Mrs.  Joyce  comes  to  him,  and  he  tells  her,  hurriedly, 
his  errand. 

"You  will  be  here  this  evening  also,  "she  says,  "and 
assume  the  reins  of  authority?" 

"Oh,  mine  will  be  a  kid-glove  government,"  re- 
marks Bob,  laughingly. 

"  Yes,  but  put  a  steel  hand  into  the  kid  glove,"  sug- 
gests Pamela,  whose  experience  has  given  her  some 
pertinent  ideas  as  to  the  best  way  of  managing  girls. 
Giving  him  a  moment  to  digest  this  idea,  she  adds, 
cheerily: 

"Now,  young  man,  if  you  will  take  a  little  hint 
from  an  old  schoolmarm,  listen  to  me!  Louise 
will  probably  this  very  day  offer  to  you  her  full 
subordination.  Then,  mark  me! — do  not  laugh  it  off 
with  a  Pish!  and  refuse  it!  Accept  it  as  your  right, 
assume  it  as  your  prerogative,  impose  it  on  her  as  her 
duty,  and,  if  necessary,  compel  her  obedience  even  in 
little  things.  Then  she  will  obey  when  it  comes  to 
great  ones." 

"What  great  ones  can  there  be  between  us  ?  "  asks 
Bob,  somewhat  astonished  at  these  suggestions. 

"  Well,  I  understand  you're   spending  a   great   deal 


2l8  BOB    COVINGTON 

of  money  in  trying  to  give  Louise  a  freedom  that  even 
your  lawyers  pronounce  impossible.  She  in  some  wild 
frenzy  may  in  a  moment  destroy  your  last  hope,  unless 
you  control  her." 

"I  think  I  understand  you,"  mutters  Covington. 
"But,  hang  it,  Madame!  this  is  out  of  my  line  of  busi- 
ness." 

"Oh  no,  it  is  not.  You're  afraid  she  won't  love  you 
so  much  if  you  control  her.  But  let  me  tell  you  some- 
thing about  women  that  you  have  never  picked  up 
yet:  she  won't  love  you  unless  you  do  control  her." 

"  By  Heaven,  Madame !   she  doesn't  need  control !  " 

The  answer  that  he  gets  astounds  him.  ' '  Miss  Louise 
Tournay  perhaps  did  not!  She  had  the  right  to  guide 
and  the  power  to  protect  herself.  You  have  now  no 
more  Louise  Tournay  to  deal  with ;  you  have  a  girl  who 
has  by  the  law  no  right  to  control  herself,  no  power  to 
defend  herself,  whose  only  hope  is  in  your  guidance 
and  authority.  Martineau  told  me  that  you  would  soon 
have  to  assume  public  ownership  of  her,  in  order  even 
to  free  her.  Look  the  thing  squarely  in  the  face !  Do 
you  think  it  is  too  much  to  give  a  little  time  and  a  lit- 
tle self-control  to  directing  the  destinies  of  the  girl 
you  love,  who,  by  some  law  made  by  the  devil,  is  now 
compelled  to  look  to  you  both  for  government  and  de- 
fense? Please  put  that  in  your  brain!  Now  step  into 
the  other  parlor,  dear  Mr.  Covington,  and  I'll  send 
Louise  to  you  at  once." 

The  portieres  between  the  r.ooms  are  drawn. 

Opening  these,  Covington's  heart  gives  a  mighty 
throb.     Louise  is  standing  before  him ! 

Dressed  in  some  simple  morning  gown  of  white,  de- 
spite a  suspicion  of  invalid  negligee,  the  girl  looks, 
though  very  slightly  paler,  fresh  as  a  daisy  and  as 
blushing  as  a  rose-bud.  Bob  notes  the  pathetic  ex- 
pression that  was  in  her  eyes  when  she  first  stood  be- 
fore him  on  his  return,  has  nearly  left  them. 

His  thoughts  are,  however,  vague.  At  present  all  he 
knows  is  that  his  goddess  is  before  him — beautiful, 
piquant  and   charming  as  in  the  old  and  happy  days. 

"Louise — Miss  Tournay — "  he  gasps,  and  for  a 
moment  would  bow  and  take  her  hand  to  give  her 
formal  greeting. 


BOB    COVINGTON  219 

* 

But  she,  looking  up  at  him,  murmurs:  "  Are  we  not 
affianced?  Do  you  repudiate  your  nosegay?"  and 
gracefully  rests  on  his  shoulder  one  white  hand,  hold- 
ing the  bunch  of  rose-buds  and  orange  blossoms  she 
has  received  this  morning;  then,  trustingly,  lovingly, 
puts  up  the  prettiest  little  mouth  in  the  world  for  him 
to  kiss. 

What  man  could  refuse  such  greeting  ?  Not  once 
but  many  times,  the  two  rose-bud  lips  held  up  to  him 
are  kissed  with  true  Kentucky  ardor.  Then  his  arm 
goes  round  her  as  she  seems  weak  and  totters  a  little, 
and  she  murmurs  archly  to  him:  " That's  right!  I'm 
not  very  strong  yet.  I — I  think  I  need  this  hand  to — to 
lead  me  through  the  world,"  then  half  laughs:  "Oh, 
you  needn't  carry  me!     I'm  not  so  extremely  weak." 

For  Bob,  in  his  plenitude  of  youthful  love  and 
strength,  has  borne  Louise  very  tenderly  but  like  a 
little  child  to  a  sofa  and  placed  her  on  it. 

"  Won't  you  sit  down  ?  No!  near  me — by  my  side!" 
whispers  the  young  lady,  blushing  as  he  takes  her  at 
her  word. 

"I — I  haven't  much  time  to  stay,"  mutters  Coving- 
ton, who  feels  his  resolutions  of  formality  flying  to  the 
four  winds  of  heaven,  with  his  sweetheart  beside  him, 
looking  love,  trust,  and  gratitude,  all  in  one.  "I — I 
came  on  a  matter  of  business." 

"On  business?  Oh!"  murmurs  Louise,  then  adds 
in  disappointed  archness:  "  I — I  had  presumed  it  was 
my  note. " 

"I — I  intended  to  come  this  evening  in  answer  to 
that, "returns  Bob. 

"  Did  you  ?  Then  I  hold  you  to  that  promise.  But 
what  business  ?" 

"Very  important — for  you — for  Nita." 

"Ah,  you  have  hope  ?" 

For  one  instant  the  brightest  sunshine  he  has  ever 
seen  floats  about  her  face,  then  dies  away  as  he  an- 
swers: "It  wouldn't  be  justice  to  you  if  I  said  I  had. 
But  I  have  a  very  astute  mind  working  for  you.  And 
in  that  regard  I  am  here  to  ask  you  to  tell  me  all  you 
can  remember  about  your  mother." 

"My     mother?      Oh — I    see,"     remarks     Louise. 


220  BOB    COVINGTON 

"Well,  I  was  such  a  child,  even  when  she  died,  I  can 
recollect  but  little,  and  that  only  in  a  hazy,  dreamy 
way.     You   see  I — I  didn't   know  that  my  mother's 

status  would — would  make  me  your — your .     Oh, 

I  don't  mean  to  reproach  you!"  for  Covington  has 
turned  away  his  head.  "  You're  the  best,  the  dearest, 
the  kindest  master — No,  I  don't  mean  that,  Mr.  Cov- 
ington!—^^/" 

He  turns  to  her. 

"  Bob's  the  best  name,  I  think,  after  all,"  she  says, 
nestling  on  his  shoulder,  then  goes  on:  "I'll  tell 
you  about  my  mother.  She  couldn't  have  been  very 
well  educated;  I  have  just  a  faint  suspicion,  now  I 
think  of  it,  she  did  not  read  and  write.  That's  bad  news 
for  you,  isn't  it? "  for  her  listener  has  been  unable  to  re- 
press a  sigh.  "But  she  played  exquisitely  on  the  piano 
and  harp  and  sang  divinely,  and  was  very,  very  beau- 
tiful. She  was  treated  with  the  greatest  respect  and 
love  about  the  plantation ;  though  I  don't  think  she 
ever  left  it.  I'm  sure  my  father  never  brought  her  to 
New  Orleans." 

"Very  beautiful — of  a  Castilian  type?"  asks  Bob, 
eagerly. 

"Yes;  but  I  can  show  her  to  you;  you  can  judge 
for  yourself.  A  strolling  artist,  some  friend  of  my 
father — who — who  was  a  poet  and  savant,  you  know," 
sneers  the  girl  bitterly,  "was  once  upon  the  plantation 
and  painted  a  little  miniature." 

Louise  runs  away  and  returns  in  a  few  minutes  with 
a  portrait  on  ivory  that  justifies  what  she  says  of 
her  mother's  beauty.  Gazing  at  this,  Mr.  Covington 
is  delighted  to  notice  that  the  face  is  of  a  pure  Span- 
ish type;  though  it  indicates  a  lack  of  intellectuality. 
The  eyes  are  very  bright,  the  lips  sensitive,  the  whole 
face  wondrously  vivacious,  but  without  culture.  Alto- 
gether, the  picture  indicates  a  woman  of  tender  soul, 
loving  heart,  and  bright,  but  uneducated  mind,  prob- 
ably for  lack  of  advantages  in  childhood. 

"That  is  all  you  know?" 

"Yes." 

"Did  your  mother  ever  use  any  Spanish  expres- 
sions?" 


BOB    COVINGTON  221 

"  Never!" 

"  Did  she  ever  speak  of  her  past  life?" 

"Yes." 

"  Ah ! — in  what  way?" 

"  Well,  she — I  remember — she  once  said  sadly  to 
me  that  she  had  never  been  happy  until  she  saw  my 
father." 

"That  is  all?" 

"Everything." 

"I  must  go,"  remarks  Covington,  rising  and  looking 
at  his  watch,  for  he  remembers  his  appointment  with 
Jarvis. 

"So  soon?  Ah,  it  was  business  that  brought  you!" 
she  pouts,  "and  you  have  talked  of  nothing  else," 
giving  him  an  arch  but  veiled  glance  that  sets  Mr. 
Bob's  heart  beating  very  fast. 

"Yes,  but  it  was  your  business — your.freedom — your 
sister's  welfare." 

"Then  I  suppose  I  must  forgive  you.  Forgive  you?" 
she  cries  apologetically;  "Ah!  I  have  nothing  to  for- 
give!" then  smiles:  "  Only  I  shall  have  something  to 
forgive  if  you  do  not  keep  your  promise  and  return 
this  evening.  But  you  must  come!"  she  adds  very 
seriously.  "I  have  something  to  tell  you  that  you 
must  know,"  next  falters:  "For  the  last  two  days 
I — I  have  thought  you  were  forgetting  me — forgetting 
me,  Bob — though  each  day  came  the  bouquet  to  give  me 
assurance  of  your  love. " 

"  Your — your  health.  My — my  promise,"  stammers 
the  young  man. 

"I  won't  think  of  any  promise,"  cries  the  girl,  her 
big  eyes  full  of  love,  "  but  the  great  one  you  made  me 
about  Christ  Church !  "  and  grows  red  and  blushing 
and  takes  his  hand  and  falters:  "  The  one  I  bless  you 
for  each  morning  as  I  wake,  each  night  as  I  close  my 
eyes,  for  by  that  I  know  the  grandeur  of  your  love, 
whether  it  ever  comes  or  not."  And  she  grows  very 
tender  to  him  and  mutters:  "If — if  at  the  last  you 
can't  keep  it — what — what  shall  we  do?  "  and,  blush- 
ing like  a  rose,  quivers  and  sways,  and  somehow  grows 
more  tender  to  him  all  the  time,  and,  putting  her  fair 
arms  around  his  neck,  nestles  to  him  as  if  he  were  her 


222  BOB    COVINGTON 

only  resting  place  on  earth.  Then  she  pleads :  ' '  Don't 
go  yet!"  but  murmurs:  "Well,  if  you  must — I 
suppose  the  steamer  will  not  *  wait — let  me  run 
down  stairs  with  you,"  and,  taking  his  hand,  says: 
"  Come  into  the  garden  with  me ;  you  can  give  me  two 
minutes." 

Here,  walking  by  his  side,  she  astounds  and  con- 
fuses him  by  murmuring:  "  Is  not  it  wonderful  that  I, 
who  used  to  be  so  proud,  am  now  so  humble?  I  try  to 
make  myself  realize  it.  I  say:  'This  dress  is  his — 
this  hat  is  his — this  glove  is  his — this  hand  is  his — / 
am  his  !  '  " 

"Haven't  I  begged,  entreated,  commanded  you  not 
to  talk  that  way?  "  mutters  Bob,  who  has  been  hanging 
his  head  during  this  oration. 

"Yes,  but  Mrs.  Joyce  tells  me  you  are  going  to 
assume  personal  direction  of  me."  She  looks  shyly  at 
him,  but  goes  on,  very  sweetly:  "I  am  very  glad  of 
this;  when  you  come  this  evening,  I'll  tell  you  why.  I 
shall  try  to  be  obedient  to  you,  but  if  not — "  she 
adds  archly  yet  nervously:  "I — I  suppose  you'll  have 
to  make  me  skip  the  rope." 

"Very  well,"  says  Bob,  laughing.  "  I  shall  com- 
mence now.  "You  have  several  times  called  me 
'Master'  to-day,  for  which  I  shall  inflict  a  penalty." 

"Yes,  dear — what  penalty  ? " 

"Five  kisses,  when  I  come  this  evening." 

At  which  she  droops  her  head  and  murmurs  blush- 
ingly:  "Then  I'm  afraid  I  shall  be  very  naughty,"  but 
runs  up  the  stairs,  kissing  her  hand  to  him ;  and  when 
again  in  the  house  laughs:  "  I  believe  he  will  come  to 
inflict  that  penalty." 

From  this  interview  Bob  goes  hurriedly  to  the 
Havana  boat  and  meets  Jarvis. 

On  hearing  Louise's  account  of  her  mother  and  see- 
ing the  miniature,  the  attorney  says:  "I'll  take  that 
with  me  to  Cuba." 

"You're  satisfied  you'd  better  go  ?  " 

"It's  about  the  last  chance;  though  slimmer  than  a 
shadpole." 

In  Havana  you  may  meet  Monsieur  La  Farge,"  re- 
marks Covington,  trying  to  get  the  affair  out  of  his 


BOB    COVINGTON  223 

mind.  "  Would  you  tell  him  the  result  of  my  trial  and 
that  it's  perfectly  safe  for  him  to  come  back  ?  " 

"I'll  do  that  with  pleasure,"  rejoins  Kitson.  "  I'll 
take  his  case  for  fifty  dollars,  and  guarantee  that  he 
shan't  be  under  arrest  over  two  hours." 

"Thank  you.  La  Farge's  address  is  Fulton's 
Hotel." 

"  Thank  you  !  Shouldn't  wonder  if  I  make  a  double 
stroke  of  business  this  trip.  I'll  acquit  La  Farge  and 
open  up  a  Creole  practice,"  remarks  Jarvis,  cheerily, 
and  the  gangplank  being  drawn  in  and  the  steamer's 
lines  cast  off,  proceeds  very  happily  on  his  way  to  the 
Havana. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

"from  him  all  things  must  come." 

Covington,  gazing  after  the  departing  boat,  thinks 
gloomily:  "  That  last  five  hundred  dollars!  By  Heaven, 
if  I  play  at  poker  again  and  lose,  I'll  have  to  sell  Mr. 
Caesar." 

This  idea  is  still  in  his  head  when,  at  half  past  seven 
in  the  evening,  he  stands  in  front  of  the  Tournay  resi- 
dence, a  box  of  bonbons  and  an  exquisite  bouquet  of 
roses  and  orange  blossoms  in  his  hand.  Even  as  he 
grasps  the  massive  bronze  knocker  he  cannot  help 
thinking,  though  he  despises  himself  for  it:  "This 
house  is  mine,  and  everything  in  it — save  Mrs.  Joyce — 
and  only  protected  from  me  by  my  love  for  one  of 
them!" 

In  the  hall  he  is  met  by  Nita.  The  child  kisses  him 
very  sweetly  and  says,  looking  at  the  box:  "Bonbons 
for  me,  Cousin  Bob  ?  " 

"Yes!" 

"You're  the  best  cousin  in  the  world!  And  the 
flowers  for  Louise  ?  " 

"Yes.     Where  is  she?" 

"Oh,  Louise  is  having  it  out  with  Martineau.  Gra- 
cious!    Hasn't  she  been  high  and  mighty  with  him!" 


224  BOB    COVINGTON 

says   the    little  'girl,    adding   with     juvenile    instinct 
"With  you  she'll  be  as  meek  as  a  kitten,"  and   runs 
away  with  her  sweets. 

Evidences  of  the  child's  social  diagnosis  come  im- 
mediately to  Covington.  As  he  enters  the  first  salon 
he  hears  the  avocafs  voice,  in  the  other  parlor,  in 
vigorous    and  almost  pathetic   French  expostulation. 

He  hesitates  to  interrupt  him,  but  Louise,  catching 
sight  of  her  sweetheart,  cries:  "  Mr.  Covington,  I  beg 
you  to  come  here,"  and  Bob  going  to  them,  she  says 
haughtily:  "Monsieur  Martineau,  I  will  accept  no 
criticism  or  dictation  in  regard  to  my  expenses  or  per- 
sonal conduct  from  you.  The  only  one  from  whom  I 
will  receive  chiding  or  correction  is  my  owner,  Mr. 
Robert  Covington." 

With  her  words,  she  takes  Bob's  big  hand  in  both  of 
her  little  ones,  and,  placing  his  arm  over  her  shoulder, 
stands  holding  it  convulsively,  and  this  man — her 
master — can  feel  her  tremble  as  she  announces  him  as 
such,  and  in  Louise's  quivering  limbs  can  discern  that 
she  knows  her  pretty  knees  must  bend  to  his  will — 
and  at  his  word. 

"You — you  are  legally  right,  I — I  am  grieved  to 
say,"  remarks  the  avocat,  sadly.  "  For  ever  since  you, 
my  dear  young  lady,  placed  yourself  in  Mr.  Jarvis,  his 
attorney's,  hands  you  have  under  the  law  been  Mr. 
Covington's  absolute  personal  property. " 

At  these  words  Bob  can  feel  the  girl's  hands  grip  his 
again,  as  though  she  felt,  "Here  is  my  dictator,  but  also 
my  comfort  and  support." 

"I  was  only  speaking  to  you,"  goes  on  Martineau, 
"in  Monsieur  Covington's  interests.  I  am  sorry  you 
are  angry  with  me,  Mademoiselle.     I  bid  you  bonjour. " 

And  the  old  gentleman  walks  out  in  quiet  dignity,  for 
Louise  has  said  some  cruel  things  to  him  this  evening, 
her  humiliating  position  making  her  nervously  uneasy, 
and  at  times  desperately  anxious  to  assert  herself. 

"  I  am  afraid  you've  wounded  Arvid,"  Mr.  Coving- 
ton says,  deprecatingly. 

"Shouldn't  wonder!"  laughs  Louise,  saucily,  then 
pouts :   "  He  criticised  me !  " 

"What  is  the  trouble?"  asks  Bob,  uneasily. 


BOB    COVINGTON  225 

"  Oh,  Monsieur  Martineau  thought  I  was  too  extrav- 
agant." 

"In  what?" 

"  Dress,  furbelows,  footgear!"  and  she  puts  out  a 
very  pretty  little  slipper,  "these  gloves,"  and  she  holds 
up  g ants  a  la  mode,  and  remarks,  bitterly:  "  I  have  not 
yet  learned  the  economies  of  a  slave-girl;  but,  of 
course,  Bob,"  here  she  faces  him,  "if  you  say  the 
word  I've  got  to  do  it!  I  know,"  her  eyes  seek  his, 
then  droop,  "that  you  are  going  to  make  me  walk  the 
chalk  line." 

Here  Covington  perchance  astounds  and  certainly 
confuses  her  by  saying  determinedly:  "You  are 
right!"  He  has  pondered  over  Mrs.  Joyce's  hint  and 
has  made  up  his  mind  that  for  this  young  lady's  interests 
he  must  control  her  and,  if  necessary,  compel  her  obe- 
dience. For  he  now  sees  her  cruel  fate  has  made 
Louise — from  very  nervousness — unequal  to  control 
herself. 

"Yes,  I  can  see,"  she  says,  attempting  archness, 
though  her  lips  tremble.  "  Tips  of  slippers  always  up  to 
the  line! — eh,  Bob?— just  as  at  Miss  Martin's.  You 
must  get  Mrs.  Joyce  to  give  you  her  academic  manual. " 

And  she  stands  before  him,  smiling  saucily,  though 
her  eyes  are  appealing,  and,  coming  to  position,  drapes 
back  with  her  hands  the  white  skirts  of  her  robe,  show- 
ing two  delicate  feet  in  weblike  stockings  and  tiny 
black  slippers,  which  are  fastened  with  thin  crossed 
elastics,  school-girl  fashion,  over  her  high  insteps  that 
gleam  like  ivory  under  the  open  work  of  the  hosiery. 
As  she  gives  him  an  enfant  gdtee  expression,  she 
looks  like  a  mutinous  school-girl,  but  Bob  mistakes  her 
for  a  fairy. 

She  is  dressed  exquisitely,  in  plain  white  muslin,  so 
very  sheer  that  her  white  shoulders  gleam  through  its 
tissue.  Its  sleeves,  made  in  juvenile  fashion,  are 
drawn  up  by  ribbon  bows,  displaying  her  superb  arms, 
bare  to  the  shoulders,  and  without  jewelry.  So  like- 
wise her  hands,  except  upon  the  third  finger  of  the  left 
is  the  diamond  of  hb  troth.  The  whole  toilette  is 
without  ornament  of  any  kind,  save  a  little  lace  and 
ribbon,  and  would  appear,  perchance,  plain,  were  it  not 
for  the  beauty-curves  it  drapes. 


226  BOB    COVINGTON 

Though  her  figure  is  exquisitely  developed,  still  its 
proportions  are  so  symmetrical  that  it  has  all  the  light- 
ness and  grace  of  girlhood  mingled  with  the  charms 
of  Venus.  Over  all  this  is  an  excited,  nervous  agita- 
tion, emphasized  by  shy,  appealing  glances  of  the  eyes, 
and  sometimes  by  little  quivers  of  arms  or  figure,  that 
indicate  Louise  feels  in  every  fibre  of  her  sensitive 
body,  "  I  stand  in  the  presence  of  my  ruler." 

"How  exquisitely  you  are  gowned!"  cries  Bob, 
anxious  to  show  he  is  also  her  lover  and  admirer. 

"Ah!  Delighted!  I  hope  I  shall  always  dress  to 
please  you  !  "  she  says,  essaying  an  uneasy  frivol- 
ity. Then,  seeing  the  white  flowers  in  his  hand,  the 
token  of  their  troth,  her  eyes  grow  luminous,  she 
murmurs:   "Forme?     How  good  of  you!  " 

As  he  gives  them  to  her,  she  puts  them  to  her  lips, 
and  the  blossoms  seem  to  soothe  her;  she  looks  at  him 
diffidently  over  the  superb  bouquet,  yet  says  archly: 
"  You  came,  I — I  presume,  to  inflict  the  penalty." 

He  steps  to  her.  Louise  surrenders  her  lips  to  his 
and  receives  immediate  and  plenteous  absolution,  the 
gallant  Kentuckian  remarking:  "  Now,  darling,  you're 
free  to  run  up  another  little  bill." 

As  his  caress  leaves  her  lips  she  turns  and  stands  full 
in  front  of  him,  and  he  looking  on  her  knows  their  fate 
has  come  upon  them  ! 

Suddenly  a  spasm  of  pride,  not  humiliated  but  de- 
stroyed, agitates  her  delicate  features.  She  blushes 
till  her  ivory  shoulders  gleam  pink  as  coral,  then  cries: 
"Bob,  I — I  can't  stand  it!  Even  though  I  love  you 
with  all  my  soul,  it  is  too — too  bitter,  too  humiliating 
to  think  I  am  your  personal property — your  chattel!  " 

With  infinite  pity  in  his  heart,  the  gentleman  bows 
and  mutters  brokenly:  "Miss — Miss  Tournay,  my 
presence,  I  fear,  is  an  embarrassment  to  you  this  even- 
ing.    With  your  permission  I— I  will  take  my  leave." 

He  is  stepping  towards  the  door — but  an  agonized, 
convulsive  clasp  is  on  his  arm,  and  Louise  is  beg- 
ging wildly:  "No — no!  I  didn't  mean  that!  Bob, 
forgive  me — Bob,  I  apologize!  You  must  not  leave! 
Don't  punish  me  by  deserting  me — anything  but  that! 
You — you  cannot  go!  you  must  not  go  !  you  shall  not 
go!  " 


BOB    COVINGTON  227 

Then  she  pleads:  "  Sit  down  by  my  side,"  and  mur- 
murs, with  a  half-choked  sob:  ''You — you  came  here, 
Bob,  this  evening  to  assume  my  absolute  personal 
direction,  did  you  not  ?  Mrs.  Joyce  told  me  you 
would." 

"Yes;  "  says  Covington  firmly,  "I  came,  Louise,  to 
take  direction  of  you  as  your  master.  I  trust  I  shall 
always  use  my  authority  f  r  your  own  welfare  and  your 
best  interests.  I  think  I  have  proved  that  by  my  ac- 
tion in  this  miserable  matter,  up  to  the  present  time  — 
But  if  you  think  it  ungenerous "  and  he  starts  up. 

"  Ungenerous  ?  "  she  cries.  "  It  would  be  most  un- 
generous if  you  deserted  me  in  my  extremity !  "  then 
says,  in  tones  that  awe  him:  "  To  protect  me  you  must 
rule  me.  Something  will  happen  to-night  that  will 
show  you  without  your  defense  I  am  indeed  helpless  to 
my  enemy.  I  had  supposed  I  was  beneath  the  notice 
of  the  world ;  but  now  I  find  I  am  not  beyond  its  per- 
secution." 

"Ah!  You  mean  that  infernal  Mrs.  Combes!"  he 
mutters,  savagely.  "Tell  me  the  whole  unfortunate 
transaction." 

"Yes,  Bob!"  whispers  the  girl — then  falters:  "But, 
oh!  I'm  afraid!" 

"Afraid  of  what?" 

"  Afraid  you'll — you'll  be  so  angry  with  me." 

"  Not  unless  you've  done  wrong —  Tell  me!  "  His 
tone  seems  like  a  master's  tone,  and  Louise  trembles 
a  little;  for  now  she  knows  since  this  man  has  taken 
her  government  upon  him  she  will  be  judged  according 
to  her  merits  and  corrected  according  to  her  faults. 

But  she  goes  on  as  if  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to 
an  unpleasant  incident,  saying:  "You  know,  dear, 
since  you  would  not  assume  authority  over  me  you  sent 
me  no  pass,  permitting  me  to  go  out  of  the  house  after 
night-fall." 

"Great  snakes!  Who  would  have  thought,"  cries 
Covington,  "that  you  would  be  stopped  in  the  street 
any  more  than — than  Miss  Sally  Johnson  ?  " 

But  unheeding  this  unfortunate  simile,  save  by  a 
piteous  glance  of  the  eyes,  Louise  continues:  ''Han- 
nah Combes  stopped  me  last  night." 


228  BOB    COVINGTON 

"Yes?" 

"  I  was  out  in  the  evening.  Mrs.>  Joyce  wanted  to 
make  a  purchase.  She  did  not  think  I  had  better  go — 
but  I  —  I  was  so  lonely.  I  stood  at  the  door  of  a  little 
shop  on  Royal  Street.  That  woman,  Mrs.  Combes, 
chanced  to  be  walking  by.  She  came  to  me  and  said: 
'  Louise,  have  you  a  pass  permitting  you  to  be  out 
after  night?'  'That  is  not  your  business,  Madame!' 
I  answered.  '  It  is  the  right  of  any  one  to  question 
a  girl  like  you, '  *  she  said.  '  Perhaps  you're  trying  to  run 
away.'  She  has  a  mania  for  thinking  I'm  trying  to 
escape,"  adds  Louise,  bitterly. 

"  Well  ?"  says  Bob,  chewing  his  mustache. 

"Well,  she  said  she  would  take  me   to   an  officer 
Bob.   You  know  what  that  would  have  meant.    I  could 
not   have   denied   that  I  was   your — your   servant;  I 
should  have  been  compelled  to  stay  there  until  released 
by  you." 

"  My  God!  She  didn't  take  you  to  the  calaboose?" 
screams  Covington. 

' '  No ;  fortunately  Mrs.  Joyce  came  out,  and  said  I  was 
in  her  charge,  and  then  Hannah  Combes  went  away, 
declaring  that  I  had  made  an  assault  upon  her,  and 
she  should  look  to  you  as  my  master  for  my  punish- 
ment and  damages." 

"  Made  an  assault  upon  her  ?    What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Well,  she  tried  to  take  hold  of  my  wrist,  and  lead 
me  to — to  an  officer,  but  I  pulled  my  hand  from  her." 

"  I'd  like  to  wring  her  cursed  neck!"  mutters  Bob, 
striding  about  the  room.  Then  he  asks:  "Anything 
more  ?" 

"Yes;  Mrs.  Combes  was  here  at  six  o'clock  this 
evening.  Mrs.  Joyce  saw  her.  She  said  if  you  did  not 
punish  me  to-night,  she  would  sue  you  to-morrow 
morning.  Pamela  told  her  you  would  probably  be 
here  at  nine  o'clock;  she  said  she  would  return  then. 
Bob,  she  declares  I  struck  her ;  but  it  isn't  true — believe 
me,  it  isn't  true!"    This  last  is  uttered  despairingly. 

For  he  has  suddenly  cried:  "Good  Lord!  If  the 
woman  brings  action  against  me — my  Heaven — the 
whole  town  will  know  your — your  servitude!"  and  is 
looking  very  serious. 

*See  Slave  Regulatins  Revised  Statutes, Louisiana,i852 — Ed. 


BOB    COVINGTON  229 

"You  think  I  did  wrong?"  whispers  Louise,  and 
says,  hopelessly:  "  I— I  forgot  my  station." 

"  Eternal  Powers!  no!  It  is  not  any  money  damages 
I  might  have  to  pay — because  your  evidence  would  not 
be  heard  in  a  court  of  law.  my  poor  darling — but  it  is 
the  publishing  to  the  world  that  you  are  my  bondmaid! 
That  I  won't  have — until  Jarvis  says  there's  no  hope. 
I  mutt  get  Jarvis!"  Here  he  suddenly  mutters,  aghast: 
"Great  Taylor!     Kitson  has  gone  to  Havana!" 

A  moment  after  he  discovers  how  serious  the  affair 
is.  Mrs.  Joyce  comes  in  with  a  frightened  face  and 
says:  "Mr.  Covington,  the  woman — Mrs.  Combes — 
wishes  to  see  you." 

"  Very  well.  Have  her  shown  into  the  next  room." 
Then  he  remarks  to  Louise :  ' '  I  do  not  wish  you  drawn 
into  this  matter  in  any  way." 

"I  don't  think  it's  money  damages  she  wants — it's 
my  humiliation  and  punishment  this  woman  will  de- 
mand," whispers  the  girl,  desperately.  "She — she 
has  not  forgiven  me  for  some  remarks  I  made  to  her 
when  she  had  me  in  charge." 

"It  is  for  that  reason  I  do  not  wish  you  to  see  her. 
Please  remember,  you  must  stay  in  your  own  room, 
dear,  until  I  have  sent  the  woman  away."  And  Bob, 
brushing  the  hair  back  from  his  brow,  goes  in  to  meet 
Hannah  Combes,  while  his  sweetheart  turns  to  leave 
the  parlor  for  her  chamber. 

But,  even  as  she  goes,  chancing  to  hear  a  word  or 
two,  she  turns  and  listens  and  begins  to  tremble,  then 
listen  again,  with  clenched  hands  and  desperate  eyes. 

"I  have  come,  Mr.  Covington,"  says  Mrs.  Combes, 
looking  at  Bob  angrily — for  this  gentleman's  uncere- 
monious treatment  of  her  on  their  first  interview  has 
made  her  vindictive  to  him — "to  demand  the  punish- 
ment of  your  girl  Louise." 

"For  what  reason?"  says  Bob,  affecting  calmness, 
as  he  notes  traces  of  whisky  in  the  breath  of  the 
irate  matron,  Mrs.  Combes  having  stiffened  herself  up 
on  Bourbon  and  water  for  the  occasion.  She  knows 
moreover,  that  Covington  wishes  the  servitude  of  Louise 
to  remain  a  secret,  and  in  this  view  thinks  she  has  got 
the  whip  hand  of  the  gentleman  and  also  of  his  beauti- 


230  BOB    COVINGTON 

ful  bondmaid,  whose  cutting  speeches  have  left  their 
sting  in  her  ignoble  soul,  which  has  been  added  to  by- 
one  or  two  sneering  remarks  the  young  lady  had  made 
the  evening  before. 

"For  what  reason  ?"  cries  Mrs.  Combes.  "Why, 
your  girl  Louise  struck  me  last  evening  in  the  street!  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  remarks  Bob.  t4  Her  descrip- 
tion of  the  affair  is  entirely  different." 

"What!  You  would  believe  her  instead  oime?  Well, 
we'll  just  go  to  court  and  see  if  her  evidence  will  be 
taken  in  the  case  at  all." 

"We  can  arrange  this  matter  outside  of  the  court. 
How  much  money  do  you  wish  in  liquidation  of  the 
damages?" 

"  I  don't  believe  I  want  money  at  all,"  answers  the 
woman,  savagely.  "At  all  events,  I've  got  to  have  some- 
thing else  besides  money!  Louise  struck  me,  and  if 
you  don't  give  her  a  right  good,  thorough  dressing 
down,  I'll  go  to  court,  money  or  no  money!  " 

Here  Bob's  appearance  is  so  frightful  Mrs.  Combes 
stops  her  tongue  and  gazes  at  his  eyes. 

"  Hell  and  blazes "  he  has  broken  forth. 

But  before  he  can  say  more,  Louise  has  flown  out  of 
the  next  room  and  is  standing  in  front  of  Hannah. 
"You  cruel  woman!"  she  shudders,  "who  would  de- 
grade me  by  the  hand  that  loves  me!  " 

Suddenly  she  feels  Covington's  firm  grasp  upon  her 
shoulder. 

"  I  will  speak,  Bob!  I  will  tell  her  what  I  think  of 
her!" 

The  next  instant  she  is  drawn  to  his  breast,  his  arm 
goes  round  her  and  holds  her  firmly  to  him.  He 
says:  "Louise,  you  forget!  "  in  a  tone  that  compels 
her  silence.  And  under  his  arm  the  girl  gives  a  sud- 
den thrill  and  throb,  not  quite  of  fear  but  still  of  ser- 
vitude, for  he  has  whispered  sternly  to  her:  "  I  punish 
disobedience!  "  and  she  knows  this  man  holding  her  so 
strongly  that  she  cannot  move,  will  rule  and  govern 
her. 

"  That's  right!  "  jeers  Hannah.  "  Put  the  baggage 
in  her  place!  Let  her  know  you're  her  boss!  " 

"  I  will — to  protect  her  !  "     And  Louise  feels  the  arm 


BOB    COVINGTON  231 

round  her  lifting  her  up,  as  Bob  Covington  stands  tow- 
ering over  her  enemy,  and  she  realizes  though  it  is  her 
dictator's  arm  it  is  the  one  that  will  shield  her  against 
all  this  world — even  herself. 

11  Now,"  says  Covington,  to  whom  has  suddenly 
come  a  lucky  inspiration,  "  if  I  remember  your  infam- 
ous face,  Mrs.  Combes,  you  are  a  stewardess  on  the 
St  Louis  line  of  steamboats.  I  have  seen  you  on 
those  boats." 

"  You  have! — I'm  layen  off  now — what  of  it  ?  " 

"  Very  well.  The  president  of  that  line  is  my  inti- 
mate. Its  treasurer  is  my  friend.  I  know  four  of  its 
captains  and  two  of  its  pilots.  Kitson  Jarvis  knows 
every  steamboat  man  on  the  river,  and  if  you  dare 
open  your  miserable  mouth  to  say  a  word  of  this  to 
any  human  being,  I  will  see  you  never  sail  on  another 
Mississippi  River  boat  again  !— -Never! — so  long  as  you 
or  I  live !  Now  will  you  take  twenty  dollars,  and  go 
in  a  hurry  ?  " 

"  You  ain't  fighting  this  thing  quite  fair,  Mr.  Cov- 
ington." 

"Are you?     Here — take  the  money  and  go!" 

*  *  I'll — I'll  take  the  twenty  dollars,"  says  Mrs. 
Combes,  then  commences  to  beg:  "  Don't— -don't  use 
your  influence  against  a  poor,  down-trodden  woman!  " 

"  I  will! — if  word  comes  back  to  me  of  this  affair.  I 
don't  mean  through  the  courts,  but  by  rumor  or  scandal 
or  any  other  way.     Now,  here's  your  money — leave!  " 

And  he  handing  her  a  bill,  Hannah  would  slink  out 
of  the  parlor.  But  at  its  very  door,  the  whisky  get- 
ting into  both  her  brain  and  tongue,  she  can't  hold  her- 
self, and  turns,  gibing  the  defenseless  one:  "  Sewing- 
girl  in  the  parlor!  Ho! — ho!  Fixed  up  to  beat  crea- 
tion! Ha! — ha!  'Taint  whippens,  but  kisses,  you  get, 
I  reckon.   Who'd  get  justice  on  a  fancy-gal  mistress  ?  " 

As  these  words  smite,  Louise  slips,  with  a  shudder- 
ing cry,  from  her  sweetheart's  arms.  She  sinks  upon 
the  floor,  and  hides  her  face  that  burns  with  shame, 
then  chills  with  horror. 

With  muttered  imprecations  and  blazing  eyes,  Cov- 
ington makes  one  step  toward  the  woman,  who,  having 
struck  down  the  defenseless,  flies  from   him.      Then 


232  BOB    COVINGTON 

he  turns,  and  looks  with  pity  and  dismay  upon  his  love, 
that  even  he,  her  master,  cannot  protect. 

"  It  was  to  keep  you  from  such  infamies  as  this,  dear 
one,"  Bob  whispers,  "that  I  had  determined  not  to 
look  upon  your  face.  When  your  control  was  forced 
upoL  me,  I — I  feared  this  woman's  tongue,  that's  the 
reason,  Louise,  I  directed  you  not  to  see  her.  But 
you  listened,  and  despite  my  command,  came  in — to  be 
insulted!  "  he  adds  both  bitterly  and  sternly. 

To  this  the  girl  says  nothing;  but  her  eyes  never 
leave  his  face — sometimes  falteringly,  sometimes 
pleadingly,  but  always  adoringly.  She  looks  at  him  as 
if  he  were  her  bulwark  and  defense ;  for  now  she  knows 
from  this  man  to  her  must  come  everything — whether 
of  good  or  evil — in  this  world. 

Then  Covington  goes  on  quite  calmly:  "To  avoid 
any  chance  of  such  unpleasant  incidents,  I  shall  not 
permit  you,  Louise,  to  go  out  in  the  evening  except  in 
my  charge." 

"Yes,  sir!" 

"That  I  say  to  you  as  your  master.  As  your  lover  I 
tell  you  I  am  always  entirely  at  your  service,  to  take 
you  by  day,  by  night,  whenever  or  wherever  it  is  my 
sweetheart's  pleasure  to  go." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  Bob!  "and  the  girl  beams  love 
upon  him,  adding  quite  docilely :  "  It  is  so  easy  to  obey 
you; "  then  cries  with  flaming  eyes:  "To  the  rest  of 
the  world  I  am  twice  as  proud  as  before." 

"  And  in  this  regard,  had  we  not  better  write  a  little 
letter  to  Monsieur  Martineau?"  suggests  Covington 
with  a  slight  smile. 

"  Ah,  you  think  I've  been  too  extravagant?" 

"Oh  no!  I  don't  care  a  continental  for  the  money ! 
Your  pleasure  first — but " 

"  Oh,  Bob,  you  want  me  to  apologize?  " 

"Not  apology,  but  explanation.  Just  to  show 
Arvid  that  you  still  regard  him  as  the  good  friend  he 
has  always  been  to  you." 

But  she  says,  pride  coming  back  to  her:  "As  Miss 
Tournay,  I  could  have  written  a  note  of  apology  as 
humbly  as  any  lady  on  this  earth.  As  Louise,  your 
slave-girl,  I  am  too  haughty,  or  too  ignoble,  to  do  it!  " 


BOB    COVINGTON  233 

Then  Louise  finds  she  has  a  master. 

"You  don't  know  how  happy  it  will  make  Martin- 
eau,"  Covington  pleads.  "  Think  over  the  matter.  If 
you  cannot  bring  yourself  to  write  it  to-night,  write  it 
to-morrow." 

"And  if  not? "     The  piquant  nose  is  in  the  air. 

"If  not,  to-morrow  morning,"  he  says,  quietly  seat- 
ing himself  and  gazing  somewhat  sternly  at  the  girl, 
as  she  stands  haughtily  before  him,  "I  shall  take  you 
to  Monsieur  Martineau's  office.  There  you  will  make 
your  amende  in  words.  It  is  no  degradation  to  ac- 
knowledge a  fault." 

"And  if  at  Martineau's  office  I  will  not  say  the 
words  you  want  me  to? "  she  answers,  defiantly. 

"Then  I,  in  your  presence,  shall  apologize  for  you." 

"Ah!  By  my  humiliation  you  will  prove  you  are 
my  master!  "  she  cries,  and  tears  are  in  her  eyes. 

"You — you  reproach  me  again  with  this  accursed 
authority  that  has  been  forced  upon  me."  He  shud- 
ders, then  mutters  sadly:  "  This  is  what  I  feared!  that 
my  darling  would  forget  my  love — in  my  dominion." 

Suddenly  another  gust  of  passion  sweeps  the  fair 
creature.  "  Reproach  you?"  she  cries,  then  makes  him 
in  his  misery  proud,  ay,  almost  happy,  for  she  whispers : 
"  I  bless  Heaven  you  are  my  master,  for  you  are  the 
only  man  I  could  think  of  as  my  absolute  owner — 
whose  will  must  always  be  my  will — and  live!  Every 
night  I  thank  God  that  He  in  His  mercy — since  He  has 
given  me  a  lowly  fate — has  placed  me  under  the  hand 
of  the  one  man  in  all  this  world  to  whom  I  could  bow 
rny  head  and  say — 'my  master',"  and,  sinking  at  his 
feet,  the  girl  places  her  head  humbly  on  this,  her  auto- 
crat's knee,  and  sobs  as  if  worn  out  by  conflict. 

From  this  obeisance  he  would  recoil  aghast,  but, 
remembering  the  schoolmistress's  words:  "When 
Louise  offers,  do  not  refuse  her  submission'"  he  places 
his  hand  tenderly  upon  her  fair  neck  and  while  caressing 
it,  dominates  it.  He  says,  and  his  voice  seems  very 
stern  to  her:  "  You  will  write  this  evening  to  Mon- 
sieur Martineau  as  I  directed!" 

"  Yes,  Bob!  He  deserves  it,  and  you're  a  dear  good 
fellow  for  making  me  do  it." 


234  BOB    COVINGTON 

This  is  sighed  out  penitently.  Even  as  she  does  it, 
Bob  can't  help  noting  the  exquisite,  grace  of  this  girl, 
who  in  her  humility  is  perchance  as  beautiful  as  in  her 
pride.  The  pose  of  her  kneeling  figure  indicates  sub- 
jugation without  abasement;  withal  there  is  an  abandon 
in  the  attitude  that  makes  it  very  graceful.  A  tress 
of  her  hair,  which  has  become  unbound,  flits  down 
over  the  white  shoulders.  Altogether  Louise  is  a  pic- 
ture of  penitence  and  loveliness. 

Then  comes  to  him  very  softly  in  contrite  tones  and 
little  sobs:  "  Bob,  dear,  say — say  that  you  for — forgive 
me." 

In  a  mighty  wave  of  tenderness  he  lifts  her  up,  places 
her  as  he  would  a  child  upon  his  knee,  pets  her,  and 
caresses  her  and  thanks  her  for  her  docility. 

And  she,  breaking  into  a  rhapsody  of  mingled  ten- 
derness, obedience,  and  love,  puts  her  arms  round  his 
neck  and  clinging  convulsively  to  him,  as  if  he  were  her 
support,  pours  out  her  soul,  sighing:  "Bob — Bob — 
Bob!  You  »are  all  I  have  to  look  to  on  this  earth. 
When  you  held  me  so  sternly  in  your  arms  and  told  me 
you  would  chastise  my  disobedience,  and  yet  protected 
meand  held  me  up  against  that  woman's  persecution 
— and  the  world!  then  dear  master,"  here  she  hides 
her  head  shyly  upon  his  shoulder,  "I  felt  I  was  your 
slave-girl  for  I  feared  the  correction  of  your  hand — 
feared  it  as  thoroughly  as  if  I  were  wincing  from  your 
rod,"  then  whispers  in  his  ear:  "Bob,  I  know  my- 
self! You  must  hold  me  most  strictly  in  your  grasp, 
you  must  bind  me  to  your  slightest  wish,  with  stern 
severity  and  rigorous  chastisement  or  I  shall  be  the 
most  rebellions  slave  on  earth!"  Her  head  flies  up, 
her  eyes  blaze!  But  as  they  catch  the  glance  of  this 
man  who  now  she  feels  is  her  dictator,  she  droops 
on  his  shoulder  once  again  and  begs:  "Forgive  my 
petulance,"  but  affirms:  "  It's  the  truth,  Bob!  To  pro- 
tect me  you  must  rule  me!  I  feel — as  I  am  by  law — 
less  than  a  little  child!"  then  laughs  with  piteous 
archness:  "And  sometimes  children  are  naughty," 
next  murmurs :  ' '  But  you  must  pet  me  and  forgive  me 
when   I'm  good." 

And  now  she  begins  to  show  him  she  feels  she  is  his 


BOB    COVINGTON  235 

bondmaid,  for  she  begs  him  to  give  her  his  directions,  so 
that  she  may  walk  under  his  will,  in  little  things  as 
well  as  large  ones. 

She  pleads  "  Show  me  how  great  your  interest  is  in 
me — by  your  care  of  the  smallest  matters  of  my 
life." 

But  this  is  a  task  of  which  Bob  Covington  knows  but 
little.  Finally,  she  laughs:  "  Your  commands  are  very 
hard  to  do.  I  am  to  love  you  very  much!  I'm  to  go  driv- 
ing with  you  to-morrow  at  the  lake!  I'm  to  take  awful 
good  care  of  my — my  precious  self  !  I'm  to  go  with 
you  to  the  theatre  in  the  evening,  and  I'm  to  love  you 
all  the  time — ain't  I,  Cousin  Bob!  Oh!  You're  the  hard- 
est master  that  ever  an  unfortunate  girl  had  who  loved 
him  to — distraction — that's  what  it  is,  Bob — distrac- 
tion!" 

"Now,"  she  says,  archly,  but  oh  so  wistfully:  "Lis- 
ten to  my  commands  to  you.  You  are  not  to  go  riding 
with  that  Sally  Johnson  any  more,  or  you'll  break  my 
heart — that's  all!  Because,  darling,  I  can't  command 
your  love,  I  can  only  beg  it — Oh,  mercy!  " 

For  her  cruel  master  has  her  in  his  arms,  and  is  very 
tender  to  her,  his  bondmaid. 

A  few  minutes  after,  she  asks:  "What  must  I  do 
to-morrow  morning  ?     You  hinted  a  drive  to  the  lake." 

"Yes;  the  sea  breeze  will  do  you  good.  Mrs.  Joyce 
will  go  with  us,  of  course." 

And  he  going  from  her  to  the  door  of  the  room,  she 
runs  after  him,  and  says:  "  See — what  I — I  made  for 
you  when  I  was  ill!"  and  puts  into  his  hand  a  little 
pocketbook  beautifully  embroidered,  and  bearing  on  it, 
in  letters  of  white  flowers:  "  Bob,"  then  laughs:  "I've 
been  an  awful  bad  girl;  I  must  deserve  a  great  many 
penalties  of — of  five  kisses  each." 

Over  her  he  sighs,  and  tears  are  in  his  eyes  as  he 
clutches  her  to  his  heart,  and  murmurs:  "My  own — 
by  the  blessing  of  God  I'll  win  your  battle  yet!  I  will 
make  you  my  equal  bride  !  Dear  one,  you  shall  walk 
through  life  beside  n:c — not  beneath  me !  Never  forget 
— though  now  I  must  control  you — you  are  my  affi- 
anced   AND   MY  BELOVED!" 


236  BOB    COVINGTON 

CHAPTER  XXIL 

WHAT    SHALL    HE    DO  ? 

From  this  Mr.  Covington  goes  away,  muttering: 
"By  the  Lord  Harry,  I  feel  like  a  backwoods  teacher 
who's  kept  his  best  girl  after  school!"  At  his  usual 
poker,  worse  results  than  ever  come  to  him ;  this  in- 
terview having  been  distracting  even  to  a  man  of 
strong  Western  temperament. 

On  his  bondmaid  it  has  a  more  soothing  influence. 
In  the  privacy  of  her  chamber,  Louise  looks  archly  at 
herself  in  the  glass  and  says :  "  I  think  this  has  stopped 
Bob's  driving  with  that  Sally  Johnson !  "  Then  suddenly 
her  complete  subjection  to  this  man's  will,  even  in  the 
slightest  things  of  life  flies  into  her  mind.  She  shud- 
ders: "Oh,  merciful  goodness!  if  any  one  else  had 
owned  me  — "  then  thinks:  "  I  know  it  —  he  is  not  go- 
ing to  permit  me  to  have  any  will  of  my  own;  not  only 
that  —  I  have  got  to  anticipate  his  wishes  even  in  little 
things." 

And  suddenly  remembering  that  Mr.  Covington  had, 
during  the  evening  expressed  himself  as  to  her  personal 
attire,  that  not  being,  thoroughly  well  she  should  wear 
on  out-door  excursions,  good,  stout  walking  boots,  she 
thinks:  "  If  I  didn't,  I  don't  believe  I  should  be  per- 
mitted to  leave  the  carriage  at  the  Lake,  and  that 
would  mean  no  breakfast — "  then  laughs:  "Pooh!  I 
could  have  my  Bob's  heart  for  breakfast,  if  I  wanted  it. 
But  still — just  the  same — "  and  she  makes  her  prepa- 
rations. 

The  next  morning,  getting  up  bright  and  early, 
Louise  goes  down,  a  picture  of  youthful  vivacity,  and 
finding  in  the  parlor  her  master,  who  has  brought  for 
her  a  beautiful  bunch  of  .white  roses  and  orange  blos- 
soms, she  seizes  the  typical  flowers,  gazes  at  him, 
salutes  him  military  fashion,  and  says:  "Inspection, 
sir !  "  putting  under  his  view  a  pair  of  very  high,  tightly 
laced  little  French  bottines,  but  of  serviceable  texture 
and  make  —  and  blushes  delightfully  as  he  gazes. 


BOB    COVINGTON  237 

To  her  he  laughs:   "Inspection  over!  Salute!" 

This  she  does  with  her  whole  soul.  Then  she  hands 
him  a  little  open  note,  saying:  "  Please  read  it,  Bob, 
and  if  you  approve,  give  it  to  Monsieur  Martineau. " 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right,  I  know!  "  cries  Covington,  and 
sealing  it  unread,  places  it  in  his  pocket. 

Then  she  runs  down  by  his  side  chatting  quite 
brightly,  and  he  putting  her  and  Mrs.  Joyce  in  the 
carriage,  they  drive  towards  the  shell-road.  Half  an 
hour  after,  he  is  delighted  to  notice  that  the  fresh  air 
from  the  Gulf,  at  Spanish  Fort,  puts  more  roses  on  her 
pretty  cheeks.  Miss  Tournay  chats  unembarrassed  to 
him  on  subjects  of  the  outer  world,  and  altogether  Mr. 
Covington  feels  much  more  comfortable. 

At  his  suggestion  they  breakfast  quietly  at  Monsieur 
Miguel's  restaurant  by  the  lakeside,  there  not  being 
many  people  in  the  dining-room  at  this  time  in  the 
day. 

However,  it  chances  that  young  Hector  Soule,  being 
out  for  morning  horseback  exercise,  comes  in  almost 
as  the  party  are  sitting  down,  and  Bob  finds  himself 
compelled  to  introduce  this  gentleman,  who  is  an  in- 
timate, to  Louise  and  Mrs.  Joyce. 

This  he  does,  mentioning  the  young  lady  as  his 
"cousin,  Miss  Tournay."  After  some  little  further 
converse,  this  Creole  beau  jumps  at  a  half-way  invita- 
tion from  Covington,  and  impressed  with  the  beauty 
before  him,  sits  down  to  breakfast  with  them,  devoting 
a  good  deal  of  his  time  to  looking  at  the  exquisite  face 
of  the  young  lady  and  listening  to  her  pretty  speeches; 
for  curiously  enough,  Louise  has  grown  very  laughing, 
arch,  piquant,  and  quite  like  her  brilliant  self  of  a  few 
weeks  ago. 

The  meal  being  over,  Monsieur  Soule  gallops  for 
some  distance  beside  the  carriage,  conversing  with  the 
fair  creature  who  sits  opposite  Mr.  Covington,  and 
seems  loath  to  doff  his  hat  and  bid  her  adieu. 

Coming  in  from  the  drive,  Bob  spends  the  remainder 
of  his  afternoon  at  the  Orleans  Club,  with  a  few  of  his 
companions  who  still  remain  in  town.  .  In  the  evening 
he  takes  his  sweetheart  to  the  theatre  with  Mrs.  Joyce. 

But  his  bondmaid  makes  him  very  happy,  for  as  he 


238  BOB    COVINGTON 

bids  her  good-night,  the  beautiful  creature  puts  her 
arms  around  him,  and  murmurs:  "Thank  you,  dear 
Bob !  You  have  made  the  first  day  of  your  personal 
authority  over  me  very  pleasant." 

"You  have  not  felt  it?"  mutters  Covington,  ner- 
vously. 

'Every  moment — firmly!  And,  I  thank  you  also 
for  your  mercy  to  me  last  night.  When  I  deserved 
punishment  you  spared  my  disobedience."  Then  she 
utters  a  little  plea:  "Bob,  please  can't  I  be  taken 
out  to  drive  to-morrow  morning  again  ?  " 

"Why,  certainly,  dear  one!  That's  what  I  was 
going  to  propose." 

So,  morning  carriage  exercise  and  breakfast  at 
Miguel's  become  part  of  their  routine,  and  two  days 
after,  Monsieur  Hector  Soule  happening  to  meet  them 
at  breakfast  again,  Miss  Louise,  obtaining  a  con- 
venient opportunity,  strolls  with  Covington  out  on 
the  veranda,  and  looking  first  at  the  lake  and 
then  at  the  tip  of  her  little  boot,  says  anxiously:  "I 
have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you,  Bob.  Monsieur  Soule  has 
begged  the  privilege  of  calling;  have  I  your  permission 
to  receive  him  ? "  She  looks  at  him  with  downcast 
eyes,  as  her  master  thinks  the  matter  over. 

"  Oh,  you're — you're  going  to  refuse  me?  "  she  mur- 
murs piteously. 

"Come  this  way,"  answers  Covington,  and,  leading 
her  to  a  retired  spot,  ceremoniously  places  a  chair  for 
her. 

"Please — please  don't  think  I'm  rebellious,"  whis- 
pers Louise  nervously,  for  once  or  twice  in  the  last  few 
days  her  master  has  disciplined  her  quite  sharply. 

"  Not  at  all !  "  replies  Bob.  "  I  was  just  considering 
our  future  in  this  matter."  Then  he  says  tenderly : 
"  Dear  one,  you  know  I  wish  you  to  have  all  the  hap- 
piness possible.  Now  the  moment  Jarvis  says  there's 
no  hope,  I  manumit  you!  That  must  be  done  in  this 
State  on  account  of  the  settlements  of  property  I  pro- 
pose making  upon  you  and  Nita;  otherwise,  Murtineau 
says,     your    enfranchisement    might    be  questioned.* 

*In  the  case  of  Hinds  vs.  Brazealle,  reported  in  2  Howard's 
Mississippi  Reports,  840,  the  main  question  was  whethera  deed 


BOB    COVINGTON  239 

Your  names  must  go  to  a  police  jury  in  Assumption,  as 
you  are  under  thirty  years  of  age,  to  obtain  its  permis- 
sion to  emancipate  you  and  Nita. 

"And  if  they — they  refuse?"  gasps  Louise. 

"Human  beings  could  not  refuse  such  a  plea!" 
mutters  Covington.  "Afterward,  I  shall  have  to  pla- 
card your  name  on  the  court-house  of  Assumption 
Parish  for  forty  days  as  my  slave,  before  I  can  enfran- 
chise you." 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"  Well,  it  will  be  undoubtedly  some  weeks  before 
the  jury  gives  its  permission,  and  forty  days  thereafter; 
and  in  that  time — I  have  thought  over  the  matter  care- 
fully— I  shall  have  to  seclude  you." 

"Im — imprison  me  ?"  Her  lips  are  trembling,  her 
blue  eyes  are  frightened. 

"  No,  not  exactly  that;  and  it  is  for  your  sake  I 
must  do  it.  Your  servitude  would  excite  comment. 
When  you  are  publicly  known  as  my — my  bondmaid 
there  can  be  no  more  drives  out  here  for  you  and 
me ;  your  appearance  in  public  would  be  embarrassing 
to  you.  Therefore  I  have  decided  during  the  time  in 
which  application  is  made  to  the  jury  to  keep  you  very 
quietly  and  privately  in  the  Tournay  house.  Of  course 
you  will  see  Mrs.  Joyce  and  Nita  and  myself,  and 
Monsieur  Martineau,  if  necessary;  but  I  do  not  think 
it  wise  to  permit  you  to  be  seen  in  public.  After  that, 
when  your  name  is  posted  up,  I  shall  send  you  and 
Nita  to  Beau  Rivage  or  the  other  place  near  Guidrys — 
whichever  I  think  will  be  the  most  retired  and  there- 
fore the  pleasantest  to  you.  Of  course,  as  my  pub- 
licly proclaimed  bondmaid,  gentlemen  cannot  visit 
you:  if  Monsieur  Soule  should  dare  to  call  upon  you, 

of  emancipation  executed  in  Ohio  was  valid,  and  it  was  held  not 
to  be  so. 

''The  consequence  is,"  says  Chief  Justice  Starkey,  "John 
Munroe  and  his  mother  are  still  slaves,  and  a  part  of  the  estate 
of  Elisha  Brazealle. 

"John  Munroe,  being  a  slave,  cannot  take  property  as  de- 
visee ;  and  I  apprehend  it  is  equally  clear  that  it  cannot  be  held 
in  trust  for  him.     4  Desaussure,  266. 

"  It  follows,  therefore,  that  the  heirs  are  entitled  to  the  prop- 
erty."— Ed. 


240  BOB    COVINGTON 

I  should  consider  it  a  personal  affront.  Now,  if  under 
these  circumstances  it  will  give  vqu  any  pleasure  or 
happiness,  or  brighten  your  life,  tell  Hector  to  come 
as  often  as  he  likes.  He  is  a  very  fine  gentleman  and 
a  first-rate  fellow  " 

"Thank  you,  dear  Bob,"  says  Louise,  "I  should 
like  him  to  come  very  much.  Of  course,  no  gentle- 
man would  call  upon  me  after  I  am  known  as  your 
slave." 

And  though  Louise  doesn't  take  Covington  at  his 
full  word  and  tell  Soule  to  come  as  often  as  he  pleases, 
in  the  restaurant  she  says  very  cordially  to  Monsieur 
Hector:  "Mrs.  Joyce  and  I  are  at  home  nearly  every 
afternoon." 

1 '  Thank  you !  I  shall  avail  myself  of  your  kindness, " 
replies  the  Creole  beau.  Which  he  does  once  or  twice 
within  the  next  few  days,  and  perhaps  a  little  oftener 
than  Mr.  Covington  thinks  is  altogether  judicious. 

But  Bob  has  other  things  on  his  mind  just  at  this 
time  besides  jealousy.  The  Havana  steamer  is  now- 
due;  with  it  will  come  Kitson  and  his  news — if  he  has 
any! 

That  afternoon  Covington  goes  down  to  the  levee  to 
meet  his  attorney,  and  also  is  delighted  to  find  his 
friend  young  La  Farge  has  returned  on  the  same  boat. 

Encountering  Jarvis  at  the  gangway,  that  worthy 
shakes  his  head  at  Bob  gloomily,  but  a  moment  after, 
says  cheerily:  "  I've  bagged  LaFarge's  case;  he's  on 
board  with  me  now.  I'll  tell  you  just  what  happened 
to  me,  over  at  Martineau's  office,  in  two  hours.  I'm 
going  with  my  new  client  to  get  him  bailed  out.  Do 
you  want  to  put  your  name  on  his  bail-bond?  You 
can  if  you  want  to,  you  know.  Won't  take  an  hour  to 
put  you  in  possession  of  plenty  of  real  estate  here! 
Might  as  well  do  it  now  as  any  time." 

Bob  shakes  his  head  to  this  and  walks  off  to  Mar- 
tineau's office,  but  the  temptation  has  grown  stronger. 
His  finances  are  getting  in  a  desperate  condition. 
True,  he  has  not  lost  much  at  poker  for  the  last 
week,  but  he  has  been  what  sporting-men  call  "  chip- 
ping out "  on  Nita  and  Louise.  Bonbons,  presents, 
and  other  little  things  eat  up  a  good  deal  of  money, 


BOB    COVINGTON  241 

and  this  young  gentleman   has  not   learned  to    econ- 
omize. 

Two  hours  afterward  Kitson  comes  into  Martineau's 
office,  full  of  his  new  case.  He  says  triumphantly: 
"I've  just  bailed  La  .Farge.  Two  of  the  best  names 
in  New  Orleans  on  the  bond — Soule  and  Martigny — 
could  have  had  a  dozen.  You  watch  my  speech  if  the 
judge,  when  he  acquits  my  client  for  lack  of  evidence, 
puts  in  the  usual  formula  about  the  barbarity  of  duel- 
ing. I'll  make  La  Farge  out  a  public  benefactor,  in 
cutting  off  the  fire-eating,  bloodthirsty  Delaborde — at 
whose  name  mothers  trembled  for  their  sons." 

' '  But  my  case ! — the  one  in  which  you  took  my 
money  to  go  to  Havana?"  interjects    Bob,  savagely. 

"Oh,  you  mean  little  Nita.  Well,  Nita  is  in  the 
broth." 

"You  did  nothing?" 

"Everything  that  was  possible!  I  overhauled  as 
far  as  I  was  able  all  lists  of  vessels  sailing  from  the 
Havana  for  Mexico  and  Western  Gulf  ports  from  the 
year  1812  to  1815  inclusive — that  had  never  been  heard 
of  since  they  left  harbor.  I  picked  out  that  route 
because  it  was  most  natural  for  Spanish  vessels  to  be 
taken  on  that  course  by  privateers  from  Barataria  Bay. 
For  Lafitte  always  pretended  to  sail  under  a  letter  of 
marque,  from  France  or  the  Columbian  Government, 
to  prey  on  Spanish  commerce ;  not  that  I  doubt  he 
picked  up  any  other  vessels  that  were  convenient.  But 
I  had  to  take  some  line  of  investigation  and  this  seemed 
the  most  likely.  If  the  age  of  Eulalie  Camila  was  19 
in  1832,  it  struck  me  the  years  1813,  14  and  15,  would 
be  about  the  proper  time.  I  have  here  a  list  of  vessels 
that  left  the  Cuban  capital,  and  also  similar  ships  that 
sailed  from  Mexico  for  the  Havana.  They  may  have 
gone  down  in  storms;  they  may  have  encountered  hur- 
ricanes ;  they  may  have  struck  reefs.  But  this  is  the 
list."  And  he  holds  up  to  Martineau  and  Bob  a  rec- 
ord the  length  of  which  makes  both  drop  their  jaws. 

"We  can't  investigate  all  of  these,"  remarks  the 
avocat. 

"  No.  I've  tried  to  find  out  in  this  list  all  who  carried 
white  passengers,   especially  women;    that  generally 


242  BOB    COVINGTON 

predicates  children.  Of  course,  I  can't  find  out  much 
about  any  of  them  at  this  late  day.  It's  forty  years 
ago,  and  most  every  thing  had  gone  to  the  bow-wows 
in  those  days  with  Bony  and  Johnny  Bull  a  fightin'; 
but  these  are  the  vessels  that  I  have  picked  out  as  being 
the  ones  that  there's  any  chance  about  at  all." 
Then  he  reads: 

Barque  Huaca,  left  Havana  with  four  white  passengers  and 
one  Chilean  lady,  bound  West,  probably  for  Vera  Cruz.  Don't 
know  whether  any  children. 

Brigantine  Mercedes,  from  Tampico.  Had  three  ladies  on 
board,  Mexicans,  I  reckon,  and  four  children,  two  girls — one 
about  the  right  age. 

Schooner  Susan  and  Mary,  English.  Three  white  male  pas- 
sengers, two  women  and  two  children,  both  girls.  Bound  for 
Vera  Cruz. 

Brig  Santo  Espirito,  passengers  Don  Hernandez  de  Balboa  de 
Rivera,  wife,  infant,  and  two  servants — two  other  white  males. 

"  This  was  the  orly  one  I  could  get  the  names  of  pas- 
sengers," Jarvisexpidins.  "Don  Hernandez  was  secre- 
tary of  the  Captain-General  of  Cuba,  and  was  sent  by 
him  on  a  special  mission  to  the  Viceroy  of  Mexico, 
Calleja,  who  was  having  a  tough  time  himself  with  a 
revolution  about  that  year. 

"With  this  gentleman  went  his  wife,  Dona  Maria 
Magdalena  de  Rivera,  and  an  infant  daughter,  one 
year  old,  so  far  as  I  can  find  out  from  the  Spanish  pa- 
pers, called  Carmelita  Mira  Estrella.  There  were  also 
two  Englishmen  on  board,  but  they  don't  count. 
Besides,  no  one  knows  anything  about  what  happened 
to  any  of  these  vessels;  they  simply  disappeared. 
Here  we  are  at  the  stone  wall  again ! " 

"You  give  it  up  then?  " 

"Well;  might  as  well,  I  reckon."  And  Jarvis  goes 
away. 

1 '  I  might  as  well,  I  reckon,  too, "  sighs  Bob.  Then  he 
turns  to  Martineau,  who  has  been  listening,  and  says: 
"  What  do  you  advise?  " 

"  The  same  as  Jarvis." 

"Any  way,"  replies  the  young  man,  desperately: 
"  I've  got  to  ask  you  for  financial  assistance  in  some 
way.  Look  here!  Glance  over  my  accounts!  "  and  he 
produces  a  memorandum  bcok. 


BOB    COVINGTON  243 

In  addition  I've  a  note  falling  due  in  two  months, 
which  you've. indorsed,  for  $15,000.  I'm  overdrawn 
at  my  Louisville  agents  also.  Crops  won't  come  in  till 
next  Fall,  but  they  won't  be  a  drop  in  the  bucket! " 

1 '  Here  I  can  assist  you, "  remarks  Martineau.  4 '  That 
$5,000  you  advanced  for  Louise  and  Nita's  expenses, 
in  any  event  is  yours." 

"Very  well!  Give  it  to  me.  All  the  same,"  he 
adds  gloomily:  "I'll  have  to  put  a  mortgage  on  my 
Blue  Grass  stock  farm — the  3,000  acres  my  father  left 
me— the  farm  he  fought  the  Indians  off!  It's  a  pretty 
nice  place,  but—,"  he  sighs  deeply. 

"You  need  not  place  that  mortgage,"  answers  the 
avocat,  writing  a  check.  "There is  $55,000 more  here. 
You  heard  what  Jarvis  said.  He  can  make  a  demand 
and  get  an  order  of  the  court  in  chambers.  I  shall 
make  no  opposition." 

"  My  Heaven,  I'll — I'll  do  it!"  cries  Bob,  with  a 
snap  of  his  jaws;    but  suddenly  falters:   "No — no! 

Everybody  will   know  my  sweetheart  is   a "  and 

mutters,  hoarsely:  .  "  Not  yet  !  Something  may  turn 
up.     I'll   give  the  girls  one  more  little  chance — and 

MYSELF  ALSO!  " 

"Yourself?" 

Then  Bob  astounds  the  avocat.  ' l  Myself,  of  course  !  " 
he  says,  brokenly.  "  Whether  I  marry  Louise  Tour- 
nay,  a  white  young  lady,  peer  to  any  one  in  this  land, 
or  whether  I  marry  Louise,  my  manumitted  slave-girl, 
/  marry  her — my  sweetheart  and  my  love  !  " 

"You  know  what  that  will  mean  for  you — a  marriage 
with  a  girl  who  is  proclaimed  by  your  very  manumission 
as  of  mixed  blood?"  says  Martineau  very  seriously. 

"Don't  I?  "  groans  Bob.  "  Don't  I  know  it  means 
the  destruction  of  my  career?  "  then  laughs,  bitterly: 
"They  talk  of  running  me  for  Congress  in  the  Blue 
Grass  district.  Do  you  think  a  man  who  has  made  a 
legal  connection  with  an  enfranchised  slave  would  get 
any  votes  in  my  town  of  Lexington,  Kentucky?  Nary 
a  one!  This  is  an  affair  in  which  a  man  cannot  raise 
his  wife  to  his  own  level;  he  must  fall  down  to  hers! 
Do  you  suppose  I  could  dare  to  go  into  the  Orleans 
Club  after  the  ceremony,  which  is  not  permitted  here, 


244  BOB    COVINGTON 

had  taken  place  in  a  Northern  State?  Do  you  reckon 
the  ladies  would  receive  me  ?  Do  you  imagine  my 
chums  and  my  companions  would  permit  me  their 
fellowship?  But,  by  Heaven,  it  is  her  sacrifice  or  my 
sacrifice!  and  in  this  case  it  is  the  master — not  the  slave 
— that  goes  to  the  wall !  " 

"Diable!"  remarks  Martineau,  dryly.  "We  have 
a  custom  down  here,  to  fit  just  such  cases.  Did  you 
ever  hear  of  a  lady  being  place'ed  to  a  gentleman  ?  " 

"  Placde  Louise?"  gasps  Bob.  "You  —  you  advise 
that ?" 

"  I  advise  nothing.  Only,  perhaps  you  had  better 
investigate  the  custom,"  rejoins  the  avocat,  his  lips 
trembling  and  his  eyes  a  little  moist. 

"By  —  by  Heaven!  you  break  my  heart,"  mutters 
Covington,  and  flies  from  the  office. 

But  he  does  not  turn  his  steps  toward  Dauphine  Street. 
He  cannot  bring  his  lips  to  tell  Louise  that  her  last 
hope  —  which  never  was  a  hope  —  is  gone  ;  that  there 
is  no  escape  for  her  until  he  puts  brand  upon  her  by 
manumitting  her  with  public  notice. 

In  a  reckless,  devil-may-care  mood  he  wanders  to  the 
Orleans  Club,  and  meeting  a  number  of  boon  com- 
panions, who  are  celebrating  La  Farge's  return,  he 
drinks  with  them  the  health  of  his  friend,  time  and 
again. 

After  an  hour  or  two  of  this,  Henri,  who  is  present, 
draws  him  aside  and  says:  "Covington,  my  boy, 
Talliaferro's  advice  and  your  handling  saved  my  life  in 
that  duel.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  the  evidence 
that  will  come  up  in  my  case.  I'm  afraid  they'll  suc- 
ceed in  making  it  a  little  stronger  than  it  was  in  yours. 
Besides,  I  wish  to  ask  your  opinion  as  to  Jarvis.  He 
says  he  is  acting  for  you  in  some  matter." 

"He  didn't  tell  you  what?"  gasps  the  Kentuckian. 

"No!  Otherwise  I  would  not  have  engaged  him  for 
my  own  case." 

"Well,  he's  about  the  best  man  you  can  get,  I  think. 
I'd  sooner  trust  him  with  a  difficult  affair  than  any  man 
in  New  Orleans." 

" Bienl  come  with  me.  I  want  to  talk  to  you,  and 
I  can't  stay  here.    I've  promised  Alma  to  spend  the  even- 


BOB    COVINGTON  245 

ing  at  home.  I  only  take  to  my  little  domicile  my  very 
intimates — my  chosen  ones ;  but  you've  got  very  dear 
to  my  heart,  Bob." 

So  the  young  men  go  away  a  little  closer  friends,  for 
La  Farge's  words,  than  they  were  before. 

A  few  minutes  after,  they  step  into  a  pretty  residence 
erected  in  the  old  French  style,  though  not  nearly  as 
large  as  the  Tournay's,  with  its  usual  courtyard  and 
garden — a  house  which  La  Farge  enters  as  his  own 
home,  saying:   "  I  have  not  introduced  you  to  Alma." 

In  the  parlor,  an  extremely  handsome  girl,  with  the 
very  slightest  traces  of  mixed  blood  in  her  beautiful 
face,  exquisitely  dressed,  rises  as  La  Farge  enters,  with 
a  murmured  cry  of  love;  but  seeing  Mr.  Covington, 
moves  to  receive  him  with  the  distinction  of  3  lady. 

"Alma,  ma  chere,  this  is  my  friend,  Mr.  Covington. 
Bob,  permit  me  to  present  you  to  Madame  La  Farge," 
remarks  the  Creole. 

"Monsieur,  Henri  has  told  me  of  your  practically 
saving  his  life  by  your  advice  in  that  duel — which 
nearly  broke  my  heart,"  says  the  lady,  bowing  cor- 
dially. "  It  was  your  message  to  him  at  Havana 
that  has  brought  him  back  to  me  so  soon.  We  shall 
always  welcome  your  coming  into  this  house."  Then 
turning  to  La  Farge,  she  asks:  "Couldn't  we,  mon 
cker,  give  a  little  dinner  to  your  friend  next  Sunday 
evening  and  Colonel  Talliaferro?  But  I  understand 
he  has  gone  back  to  Kentucky.  However,  I  will  in- 
vite Adele  Marchael,  if  Monsieur  Covington  will  do  us 
the  honor."' 

Reasoning  that  he  is  seeing  Louise  altogether  too 
much  for  even  his  own  happiness  in  this  unsettled 
state  of  their  engagement,  Bob  Covington  accepts. 

After  a  few  minutes'  general  conversation ;  and  the 
lady,  who  is  apparently  highly  accomplished,  having 
sung  a  pretty  little  Cuban  air  La  Farge  has  brought 
with  him  from  Havana,  Alma  goes  away  and  leaves 
Covington  and  his  host  to  discuss  the  evidence  in  the 
latter's  coming  trial. 

"  We  must  get  the  thing  over  as  soon  as  possible," 
remarks  the  young  Creole  in  conclusion.  "It's  get- 
ting too  warm  to  remain  in  New  Orleans,  and  I  want 


246  BOB    COVINGTON 

the  affair  off  my  mind,  as  I  think  of  taking  Alma  for  a 
flying  summer  trip  to  Europe  and  Paris.  My  mother 
and  sister  remain  on  the  plantation  this  year,  and  it 
permits  me  to  travel  with  her  without  any  chance  of  a 
rencontre  v/ith  my  immediate  family,  who,  of  course,  are 
supposed  theoretically  to  know  nothing  about  my 
place'e,  who  is  practically  my  bride — whom  I  love  and 
to  whom  I  intend  to  be  true,  and  who  will  be  true  to 
me." 

11  But  about  your  children,  if  they  come  ?  "  asks  Bob, 
quite  eagerly. 

"Ah,  their  career  in  life  is  all  planned.  The 
money  settlements  are  arranged,  both  for  the  boys  and 
girls  if  they  come.  The  boys — well  they  have  their 
own  careers  to  cut  out.  The  girls — I  suppose  they — 
well,  I  hope  their  lives  will  be  as  happy  as  I  intend  to 
make  their  mother's.  I  presume  this  Creole  custom  of 
ours  is  a  little  astonishing  to  you,  a  border-state  man, 
but  it  is  no  more  than  the  morganatic  marriages  of 
Europe;  and  a  girl  like  Alma,  who  has  been  brought 
up  in  every  refinement  of  life,  prefers  infinitely  such  a 
connection — which  is  the  only  one  the  laws  permit  her 
to  a  man  of  equal  refinement  and  education — to  a 
legal  union  with  one  of  the  race  that  claims  her  as  its 
own,  but  with  which  she  has  practically  naught  in  com- 
mon except  what  the  laws  have  forced  upon  her.  I 
suppose  you're  going  back  to  the  Orleans  Club,"  he 
adds,  as  Covington  bids  him  adieu;  "tell  my  friends 
I'll  not  play  poker  with  them  this  evening,  and  don't 
forget  Sunday,  which  is  to-morrow,  at  four  o'clock." 

From  this  inspection  of  the  domestic  happiness  of 
La  Farge  and  his  beautiful  placee  bride,  Mr.  Coving- 
ton goes  away  meditatively.  He  has  noted  the  respect 
with  which  Alma  has  been  treated,  not  only  by  her 
servants  but  by  the  gentleman  who  is  her  husband  in 
everything  but  name. 

This  matter  getting  into  his  head,  at  the  Orleans 
Club  he  makes  a  good  many  inquiries  incidentally  in 
regard  to  this  extraordinary  Creole  rite,  discovering 
that  Alma  de  Careno  is  spoken  of  very  respectfully  as 
Madame  La  Farge,  by  any  gentleman  who  happens 
to    mention    her,    and  that    Henri    is    regarded    as 


BOB    COVINGTON  247 

having  done  the  proper  thing  with  the  beautiful  girl 
who  loves  him,  but  who  could  not  wed  him. 

Coming  home  from  poker  this  night,  the  young  man 
gets  to  thinking:  "  I've  got  to  do  something  myself, 
soon.  Nita  must  be  manumitted,  and  she  also.  Putting 
their  names  up  in  the  court-house  as  my  property  /"  he 
shudders.  "  But  I've  got  to  do  it  soon,  because  if — 
anything  happened  to  me,  their  fate  and  their  children's 
fate  might  be  as  cruel  as  theirs  is  now.  No — much 
more  so!  for,  thank  God!  according  to  my  lights  I 
mean  to  do  the  right  thing  by  my  darling,  and  a  little 
more!  "  Then  he  suddenly  stops  in  his  walk,  and  a 
shiver,  cold  as  ice,  runs  through  him.  He  mutters: 
"  Place ed  to  me!  "  and  utters  a  horrible,  mocking,  de- 
spairing laugh. 

The  next  day  he  does  not  go  to  see  the  beautiful 
young  lady  who  is  waiting  and  longing  for  him  at  the 
Tournay  residence.  For  now  a  terrible  problem — 
perhaps  even  a  fearful  temptation — is  on  Bob  Coving- 
ton. Not  the  temptation  of  money,  but  the  tempta- 
tion of  love.  The  law  forbids  him  to  marry  the  woman 
of  his  heart.  He  will  not  give  her  up;  he  cannot 
bring  his  mind  to  think  of  that.  That  is  despair  for 
them  both.     What  shall  he  do? 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

"a  little  joke  on  monsieur  hector!" 

It  is  in  this  mind  that  Mr.  Covington  arrays  himself 
for  the  family  dinner-party  of  his  friend  La  Farge,  and 
at  four  o'clock  presents  himself  in  Ursulines  Street,  to 
be  received  by  the  Creole  and  his  p/aeSe. 

Henri  and  Alma  are  alone  in  their  parlor  when  Bob 
enters. 

As  he  is  being  welcomed,  a  young  lady  makes  her 
appearance  and  he  is  presented  to  Mademoiselle  Tessa 
de  Careno,  Alma  remarking:  "I  expected  my  friend 
Adele  Marchael  with  us,  but  Monsieur  Gaston  Mar- 
chael  has  gone  to  visit  his  mother  at  Pass  Christian 


248  BOB    COVINGTON 

and  she  did  not  like  to  accept  my  invitation  without 
him.  Tessa  is  my  younger  sister,  Monsieur  Covington, 
a  little  girl  just  from  the  convent,  and  it  is  difficult  to 
get  Mamma  to  trust  her  youngest  one  away  from  our 
family  rooftree,  even  under  my  wings." 

Both  the  ladies  are  in  full  evening  toilet;  their  light 
gowns  chic,  fashionable,  and  lacy,  indicating  Parisian 
manufacture  and  French  genius  for  costume. 

A  moment  later,  dinner  is  announced,  and  Bob, 
with  Alma  on  his  arm,  enters  the  dining-room,  pre- 
ceded by  La  Farge,  who  laughingly  says:  "  'Tis  thy 
first  dinner  party,  little  Tessa,  and  to  it  you  go  in  with 
only  your  brother,  pauvre  enfant." 

The  table  is  very  prettily  set  with  fresh  flowers, 
china,  crystal,  and  silver;  and  Bob,  looking  at  Made- 
moiselle Tessa  de  Careno,  who  sits  on  one  side  of  him, 
perceives  she  is  in  strong  contrast  to  her  sister  Alma 
who  is  on  his  other  hand.  The  younger  is  of  slight, 
undeveloped  figure  and  has  big,  dark  eyes,  as  yet  un- 
tinged  with  passion.  The  elder  is  a  picture  of  luxu- 
riant womanhood,  and  every  glance  of  her  magnificent 
orbs  shows  she  loves  Henri  La  Farge.  The  two  sis- 
ters are  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  a  system.  They 
both  have  the  same  skin  tinted  by  one  little  drop  of 
mixed  blood;  the  difference  between  them  is,  that 
one  has  not  begun  to  love — and  the  other  is  passion 
personified. 

Mademoiselle  Tessa,  with  her  partially  developed 
figure  and  trustful  eyes,  seems  quite  bashful  and  even 
at  times  ill  at  ease  in  his  presence,  for  she  answers 
Covington's  remarks  at  first  by  **  Oui,  Monsieur"  or 
isNon,  Monsieur,'"  but  finally  gets  to  telling  him  childish 
anecdotes  of  her  convent  life,  in  a  naive  and  simple 
manner  that  indicates  her  knowledge  of  the  world  is  of 
the  slightest.  Intellectually  she  has  not  half  the  grasp 
of  little  Nita. 

However,  the  conversation  is  very  pleasant,  the  hos- 
pitality, Creole  hospitality,  which  means  the  limit  of 
cordial  welcome  and  polite  attention. 

After  the  coffee,  the  gentlemen  accompany  the 
ladies  into  the  drawing-room.  Here  Mademoiselle 
Tessa  plays  several  duets  with  Alma,  and  sings  one 


BOB    COVINGTON  249 

or  two  morceaux  of  Verdi  and  Bellini  quite  charm- 
ingly in  a  fresh,  youthful  voice. 

Her  musical  technique  is  very  fine,  and  Mr. 
Covington  making  a  remark  on  this  subject, 
Madame  La  Farge  says  impulsively:  "Our  little 
Tessa  dances  better,  Monsieur,  than  she  sings. 
You  should  see  her  polka!  She  has  been  at  two 
balls  already,  one  at  the  Circle  and  the  other  at 
Monsieur  Tiebideau's,  and  at  the  convent  she  received 
medals  for  history  and  French  poetry.  I  think  Tessa 
is  destined  for  a  brilliant  future.  At  her  last  dance 
Monsieur  Jacques  de  Bonville  was  presented  to  her, 
and  it  is  the  gossip  that  her  bright  eyes  will  make  him 
come  to  my  father  about  her.  You  like  Monsieur  de 
Bonville,  Tessa?  "  says  her  sister,  laughing. 

1 '  Oh — very  much !  "  replies  the  young  lady,  ' '  though 
I  have  not  spoken  to  him.  He  only  bowed  to  me  at 
the  ball,  but  conversed  about  me  for  a  long  time  with 
papa." 

"Yes,"  says  La  Farge.  " Ma  petite  Mrie  Tessa  is 
going  to  make  a  grand  match.  De  Bonville  is  a  man 
of  large  property — a  nice  fellow — and  I  think  will  make 
Tessa  very  happy." 

"If  he  does  half  as  much  as  you  do  me,"  laughs 
Alma,  putting  a  caressing  hand  on  Henri's  shoulder, 
"  my  little  sister  will  be  a  very  fortunate  young  lady." 

"You  know  him,  Covington.  You  played  poker  with 
him  the  other  night,"  says  Henri,  taking  the  hand 
upon  his  shoulder  in  his  own  and  kissing  the  little  fin- 
gers ardently. 

"Yes — oh,  I  remember  him,"  mutters  Bob,  with  a 
mental  groan,  as  he  thinks  of  the  check  he  sent  to  this 
De  Bonville,  whom  he  has  heard  spoken  of  as  a 
widower  with  six  children. 

But  Bob  does  not  talk  a  great  deal  this  evening.  He  is 
doing,  as  Westerners  say,  a  "heap  of  thinking."  He 
has  observed  the  elegance  with  which  the  dinner 
has  been  served.  He  now  notes,  in  a  dreamy  kind  of 
way,  the  exquisite  fittings  and  furnishings  of  the  parlor, 
and  finally  his  imagination  running  riot;  in  his  mind  he 
sees  Louise  and  himself  in  some  such  residence  in  the 
French  quarter  of  this  old  city  receiving  La  Farge  and 
Alma  at  a  family  dinner  like  this. 


250  BOB    COVINGTON 

But,  on  making  his  adieux  to  his  host  and  hostess 
and  their  young  1  :dy  sister,  and  getting  out  upon  the 
street,  Mr.  Covington,  as  he  walks  along,  shakes  him- 
self, like  a  big  water-dog  leaving  the  ocean  for  the 
land,  and  mutters:  "No — my  God! — no!  Not  for  her! 
This  kind  of  thing  may  do  for  children  of  undeveloped 
minds,  or  women  of  tropical  passions  and  educated  to 
the  custom.  But  for  my  darling,  with  her  noble  in- 
tellect and  haughty  pride — my  heaven! — it  would  be 
degradation  and  despair." 

He  has  not  seen  Louise  since  Jarvis  has  practically 
thrown  up  the  case.  He  has  not  been  able  to  bring  his 
courage  to  the  point  of  telling  her.  But  now,  though 
he  hesitates,   his  steps  lead  him  to  the  Tournay  house. 

It  is  only  seven  in  the  evening,  and  the  night  being 
warm,  from  open  windows  come  to  him  the  sound  of 
the  piano  and  the  voice  of  her  he  loves  singing  one  of 
his  own  favorite  melodies. 

He  must  go  in! 

The  servant,  answering  his  knock,  gives  him  entree 
as  a  member  of  the  family. 

Unannounced,  he  enters  the  salon,  to  find  Louise  at 
the  piano,  still  singing.  He  is  perhaps  rather  startled 
to  see  young  Monsieur  Soule  seated  not  so  far  from 
his  sweetheart  and  listening  to  her  voice  in  about  the 
same  attitude  in  which  he  himself  had  sat  when  first 
Miss  Tournay  sang  to  him. 

His  bond-maid  stops  her  melody,  rises  from  the  piano 
and  gives  her  master  her  hand  frankly.  As  he  looks 
at  her  Bob  smiles  grimly,  for  he  notices  there  is  a  faint 
blush  of  consciousness  in  his  sweetheart's  face,  and 
perhaps  the  slightest  embarrassment  in  her  manner. 

Soule  rises  also,  greeting  Covington  as  an  intimate 
quite  cordially;  but  a  few  moments  after,  makes 
his  bow  to  Louise,  remarking,  as  he  takes  his  depart- 
ure :  ' '  Miss  Tournay,  please  present  my  regards  to  Mrs. 
Joyce." 

On  this,  Bob  throwing  eyes  into  the  other  parlor,  to 
his  shock,  sees  no  Pamela  and  her  ever  present  em- 
broidery; embroidery  that  had  not  often  been  absent 
even  when  he,  the  potentate  of  the  establishment,  was 
here. 


BOB    COVINGTON  25  I 

He  glances  at  Louise,  then  says,  a  slight  sarcasm  in 
his  voice:  "Had  you  not  better  summon  Mrs.  Joyce, 
so  that  we  may  observe  Creole  convenances,  now  that 
Monsieur  Hector  has  gone  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Joyce  is — is  angry  with  me,"  pouts  the  young 
lady. 

"  Ah!     Without  just  cause,  I  hope." 

"  It  is  about  Monsieur  Soule,"  observes  Louise,  ner- 
vously and  blushingly,  yet  frankly.  "Pamela  thinks 
he  comes  too  often  and  stays  too  long." 

"Ah!     Then  I — I  presume  you   enjoy  his  society?  " 

"  Quite  well,"  she  replies,  a  trace  of  bitterness  in  her 
voice.  "  It  is  pleasant  to  converse  with  a  gentleman 
who  doesn't  know  me  for  ivhat  I  am.  Soule  thinks  me 
Miss  Tournay,  the  heiress.  A — a  little  joke  on  Mon- 
sieur Hector." 

But  the  "little  joke  on  Monsieur  Hector"  makes  her 
pretty  lips  tremble  and  her  delicate  form  quiver  from 
humbled  pride. 

To  this  speech  Bob  answers  nothing.  He  is  wounded, 
but  he  pities  her  too  much  to  chide  her. 

"  A  little  novelty  also  to  myself,"  Louise  continues, 
"to  look  a  gentleman  in  the  face  and  not  think  he 
knows  I  am  a  chattel." 

"You — you  reproach  me  again  for  that?  " 

"No— no!  I  don't  reproach  you!  You've  been 
everything  that  is  good  to  me,"  whispers  the  girl. 
"  Only  I've — I've  been  trying  to  forget."  Then  sud- 
denly her  eyes  grow  red,  her  hands  flutter,  her  bosom 
throbs  and  pants;  she  breaks  out  despairingly:  "  Mar- 
tineau  was  here  yesterday  and  told  me  Mr.  Jarvis  had 
returned  from  Havana;  that  I  must — forever  and  un- 
alterably— consider  myself  your  slave."  With  this 
tears  come  from  the  poor  girl's  eyes,  but  really  from 
her  heart — those  bitter  drops  that  are  like  drops  of 
blood. 

Her  master  would  take  his  bondmaid  in  his  arms 
to  give  her  comfort,  but  she  motions  him  from 
her,  and  grows  very  calm — so  calm  she  frightens 
him,  as  she  murmurs,  "I  have  always  guessed  there 
never  was  any  hope — that  it  was  only  your  noble,  gen- 
erous self-sacrifice — which  tried  to  rear  a  plant  with  no 


252  BOB    COVINGTON 

seed  and  no  soil — a  plant  that  should  make  me  walk 
the  earth,  proud  as  I  once  was — and  permit  you  to  ful- 
fill the  promise  that  has  made  me  love  you  so  greatly — 
perhaps  more  than  ever  now,  because  I  know  it  will 
not  be  always  your  sacrifice,  but  soon  my  sacrifice — 
that  is,  if  you  so  decree." 

"  Martineau  told  you?  "  he  says,  hesitatingly. 

"  Everything  !  How  you've  sacrificed  your  own 
estate — how  you've  jeopardized  your  own  fortune,  try- 
ing to  do  my  sister  and  me  justice — how  you  are  to-day 
in  absolute  want  of  money ;  *'  then  she  cries  out :  ■ '  Oh, 
don't  try  to  deny  it  !  Isn't  Mr.  Caesar  down  in  the 
kitchen,  going  about  distracted,  saying  you've  been 
talking  of  selling  him  ?  Listen  !  he's  sobbing  now, 
that  he's  going  to  lose  the  kindest  master  on  earth." 

"  Oh,  he'll  soon  get  a  better  one!  "  ejaculates  Bob, 
affecting  a  lightness  he  does  not  feel,  "  I've  spoken  to 
young  Soule;  he'll  take  the  dandy  if  necessary." 

"  Ah,  you'd  sell  your  clothes  off  your  back  for  me, 
and  jest  about  it,  Bob,"  cries  Louise,  then  coming  to 
him,  she  murmurs:  "You  do  so  much  for  me,  I — I 
notice  when  you  neglect  any  little  thing.  You — you 
were  not  here  yesterday." 

"  I — I  couldn't  bear  to  till  you." 

"  Nor  to-day  ! — though  of  course  I  have  no  right  to 
ask  my  master.  You  did  not  come — that  wounded 
me;  little  things  wound  me  now,  dear.  You  know  I 
— I  can  command  nothing."  She  has  got  upon  his 
knee — she  now  hides  her  head  upon  his  shoulder. 

"Oh,  there's  no  particular  secret  about  my  where- 
abouts," says  Covington,  pleased  that  she  has  felt  his 
absence,  and  pleased  also  that  he  can  explain  without 
wounding  the  poor  girl,  who  is  clinging  to  him.  "I 
had  a  domestic  dinner  with  La  Farge." 

"At  the  Orleans  ?" 

' '  No ;  at  his  own  house. " 

"  Oh,  his  mother  and  sister  are  in  town  again  ?  " 

"No;  at  his  own  home."'  And  practically  compelled 
in  the  matter,  he  tells  Louise  of  La  Farge's  do- 
mesticity, his  love,  his  happiness. 

Mayhap  he  is  a  little  enthusiastic  about  the  last,  for 
Louise  says  suddenly:   "Yes;  I've  heard  of  girls  with 


BOB    COVINGTON  253 

a  little  taint  in  their  blood — girls  whom  the  law  says 
shall  not  be  married  to  white  gentlemen — girls  like  me 
— being  place"  ed  !  "then  adds,  perchance  pointedly: 
"Tell  me  the  details  of  such  domestic  arrangements." 

Whereupon  Covington  very  delicately  explains  to 
her  how  La  Farge  has  been  made  a  happy  man,  how  a 
grand  ball  had  been  given  by  the  father  of  the  young 
lady,  Senor  de  Careno,  and  that  afterward,  all  proper 
money  settlements  having  been  made  to  secure  the 
financial  safety  of  the  new  rooftree,  Henri  had  been 
blessed  by  the  woman  of  his  love.  "It  was  a  marriage 
of  the  hearts,  without  a  ceremony,"  he  adds. 

"A  marriage  of  the  hearts?"  falters  Louise,  "with- 
out a  ceremony  V  Then  looking  at  him  she  blushes 
crimson — droops  her  head  and  bursts  out  sobbing  on  his 
shoulder  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

He  looks  at  her  sharply,  then  mutters:  "Martineau?" 

"  Y-e-s,  Bob." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  what  I  said  to  him? " 

"Yes,  dear — that  proves  how  much  you  love  me. 
But,  Bob,  I — I  want  to  prove  how  much  I  love  you!" 
Then  she  startles  him  with:  "Some  day,  perchance,  I 
shall  do  it!" 

His  hand  turns  her  face  to  his,  and  as  he  gazes,  her 
violet  eyes  grow  deep  with  passion,  even  her  neck 
burns  with  a  mighty  blush.  He  kisses  her  tenderly 
but  silently;  for  a  little  time  neither  of  them  speak. 
Then  she  rises  from  his  knee,  goes  quietly  to  the  piano 
and  plays  very  softly  Bellini's  Casta  Divay  and  Bob 
wonders  if  she  is  thinking  of  the  Druid  Priestess  and 
her  sacrifice.  But  a  subject  has  been  broached  be- 
tween them  that  will  now  burn  in  both  their  minds. 

This  is  very  shortly  again  forced  home  to  them. 
Nita  comes  in,  her  eyes  big  with  excitement  and  her 
generous  little  heart  on  fire.  She  walks  straight  up  to 
Mr.  Covington  and  says :   "  /  hate  you  !  " 

"Hatew*/     Why?" 

"  Oh,  because  you  are  cruel!  You  are  going  to  sell 
poor  Mr.  Caesar  who  loves  you, — brought  up  on  your 
plantation  too!  "  Then  indignation  changes  to  dread. 
Nita  shudders :   "I'm  af raid*of  you !  " 

"Afraid  of  me?     Great  powers!    Have  I  not  been 


254  BOB    COVINGTON 

good  to  you  all  the  time?  Haven't  I  squandered  bon- 
bons on  you?"  mutters  Bob,  reproachfully. 

"Yes;  but  you  might  sell  me/"  and  her  eyes  grow- 
ing big  at  the  thought,  the  little  girl  suddenly  asks  an 
awful  question,  then  follows  it  up  with  a  more  horrible 
suggestion.  "He  could  do  it,  couldn't  he,  Louise?'' 
she  asks.  "He  could  sell  you  too!"  then  utters  con- 
templatively: "  He'd  do  it  if  he  lost  enough  money  at 
poker — gamble  us  away!  "  adding:  "  Mr.  Soule  would 
give  a  good  deal  for  Louise;  I  know  it  by  the 
way  he  looks  at  her!  "  next  suddenly  screams: — "  Oh, 
Heavens!  are  you  going  crazy!" 

For  Covington  is  striding  about,  muttering,  "If  I 
thought  that,  I'd  challenge  him  tomorrow  !"and  Louise 
has  sprung  up  and  seized  her  and  is  whispering:  "Tor- 
turer— away!"  as  she  drags  the  little  sister  to  Mrs. 
Joyce.  Here  she  cries:  "  Nita,  to  bed!" — in  such  an 
awful  tone  that  the  child  obeys  her  for  a  wonder. 

But  Nita  has  planted  a  little  germ  of  thought,  ugly 
thought,  in  Bob's  mind. 

"You  see  what  is  hanging  over  us,"  whispers  Louise, 
coming  back  to  him,  her  face  red  as  fire.  "  Something 
must  be  done!  My  heaven! — if  anything  happened  to 
you,  what — what  would  become  of  Nita  ?  " 

"You  ask  me  to  put  your  name  up  in  Assumption 
court-house  as  my  slave  ?  "  he  shudders;  then  mutters 
savagely:   "  That  only  at — the  last !  " 

"When  will  the  last  come  ?  " 

"When  I  can  find  it  in  my  heart  to  take  my  idol 
from  her  pedestal — not  before  /" 

And  she,  catching  his  hand,  fondles  it,  and  sobs: 
"  Generous  one  !  You  will  find  that  I  can  make  a 
sacrifice  as  well  as  you — some  day." 

"When?'* 

"  Whenever  you  ask  it."  To  this  she  adds,  trem- 
blingly, but  pointedly:  "  I  think  you  had  better  save 
Mr.  Caesar." 

"You  mean ?" 

"I  mean  that  you  take  your  legal  own — the  Tournay 
estate,  its  bank  account,  property,  real  and  personal, 
its  live  stock — which  of  course  includes  Nita  and  my- 
self."     She  is  very  calm  and  brave  now,  though  very 


BOB    COVINGTON  255 

pale,  and  her  blue  eyes  have  great  unshed  tears  Dehind 
them." 

"Only  at  the  last!" 

"This  is  the  LAST!  Have  not  both  your  lawyers 
told  you  there  is  no  hope  ?  Is  not  Nita's  one  chance 
of  ultimate  freedom  and  mine  also  hanging  upon  your 
action?  Take  us  to  manumit  us."  Then  an  agony 
comes  in  her  voice;  she  shudders:  "  If  you  died,  the 
estate  would  be  sold!    Bob — think  of  that!    We  would 

be  sold  at — at "and  cries  out:    "  Put  the  chains 

on  me,  so  that  you  can  free  me !  " 

"You  know  when  the  step  is  once  taken,"  says  Cov- 
ington, very  slowly,  but  he  notes  that  his  own  hand 
trembles,  "there  can  be  no  return.  Then  you  will  be 
branded  as  of  ignoble  blood,  forever !  " 

"Yes." 

"  You  demand  it  ?"  His  tone  is  solemn  as  death  now, 
for  this  is  the  death  either  of  his  pride  or  of  his  love. 

44  I  DEMAND  IT  !" 

"Very  well!"  Then  he  says,  almost  pleadingly: 
"  You — you  will  not  reproach  me  for  this,  either  now — 
or  in  time  to  come  ?" 

And  she  cries  to  him:  "  No!  I  will  bless  you!"  then 
murmurs,  clinging  to  him,  her  whole  soul  in  her  voice, 
as  her  white  arms  go  round  her  master's  neck:  "Dear, 
noble  Bob!  You  have  done  the  best  you  can  for  me, 
and  I  will  do  the  best  I  can  for  you." 

But  he  dares  not  ask  her  what  she  means,  and  goes 
away  from  her  horrified,  muttering:  "She  begged  me 
to  publish  her  as  my  chattel!  Good  God!  What  must 
her  anxiety  be,  to  make  her  crave  the  brand  of  serfdom 
to  get  nearer  to  freedom  by  a  single  day!" 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

"  THE    WRONG    END    OF    THE    CIGAR." 

It  is  only  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening.  Covington, 
thinking  the  matter  over,  determines:  "  I  must  see 
Jarvis!     He  must  demand  the  Tournay  property  for 


256  BOB    COVINGTON 

me  from  Martineau.  He  is  stopping  at  the  St.  Charles, 
I  believe." 

For  Kitson,  with  his  twenty-five-thousand-dollar  fee 
in  his  pocket  and  increasing  practice,  has  thought  it 
wise  to  place  himself  in  greater  social  prominence,  and 
now  occupies  rooms  at  that  gorgeous  hostelry. 

Bob  has  already  sent  up  his  card,  when,  strolling 
into  the  bar-room  he  meets  the  attorney  there. 

"Ah!  How-dy-do!"  says  Jarvis,  enthusiastically. 
"Come  up  and  liquor,  my  client  Covington!" 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  want  to  see  you  on  a  matter  of 
business." 

"  Very  private? " 

"Yes!" 

"  Jes  so!  Thought  you'd  be  round  in  a  day  or  two. 
Shan't  charge  you  anything;  it's  only  part  of  the  case 
in  which  you  paid  me  twenty-five  thousand  honest  pias- 
tres.    Come  up  to  my  room." 

On  arriving  at  his  apartments,  the  lawyer  locks  the 
door  and  says,  sharply:  "You  want  me  to  make  the  de- 
mand on  Martineau?" 

"  Yes!"  says  Bob,  desperately. 

"All  right!  Have  you  all  the  Tournay estate,  girls 
included,  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Can't  you  find  some  way  to  give  one  little  chance  to 
those  poor  helpless  ones?"  stammers  the  young  man, 
his  face  twitching. 

"  Oh,  you  mean  the  Nita  case?" 

"  Yes!  Isn't  there  any  hope  for  her — the  woman  I 
love?" 

"Not  a  bit!"  Then,  noting  that  Bob  has  tears  in 
his  eyes  and  his  hands  are  trembling,  Mr.  Jarvis's  tone 
becomes  sympathetic.  He  says:  **  I  think  I've  gauged 
you  pretty  square,  young  man.  You  want  to  do  the 
great — noble  act,  but  I  don't  see  any  chance  in  that 
highfalutin  way.  The  best  thingyou  can  do  is  to  take 
the  girls  and  manumit  them  according  to  law." 

"  Is  there  no  other  w'ay?" 

"There's  no  other  way,  except  the  Nita  case,  but 
that  don't  amount  to  anything."  And  Kitson  goes 
about  snapping  his  great  big  fingers ;  but  suddenly,  with 
a  tremendous,  castanet  report,  he  stops — whistles    a 


BOB    COVINGTON  257 

moment  and  says,  earnestly:  "  Look  here!  You've  not 
given  my  client  Nita  every  chance  she  ought  to  have." 

"  What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Well,  Nita  hasn't  had  a  square  deal,  quite." 

"  Why  not?" 

"  You're  keeping  this  thing  too  darned  quiet.  You're 
not  giving  my  little  client  any  chance  of  outside  evi- 
dence. Suppose  a  man  was  tried  for  murder,  and 
nobody  knew  it;  some  one  whose  affidavit  could  clear 
him  might  be  walking  about  the  streets  while  the  poor 
devil  was  being  hung.  Let  me  make  the  affair  a  leetle 
public." 

"No;  that's  what  we  want  to  avoid.  Louise  would 
die  of  shame." 

"Well,  let  me  tell  one  man  about  it;  it  won't  be 
much  news  to  him,  anyway." 

"Who?" 

"  Faval  Bigore  Poussin." 

"That  broken  down  scoundrel — Why?" 

"Well,  watch  me  and  see!" 

"  Do  you  think  there's  any  hope?" 

"Well,  about  as  much  as  there  is  of  my  giving  you 
back  that  twenty-five-thousand  dollar  fee.  Of  course, 
I  might  go  crazy  and  do  it!" 

"  Then  in  that  case,  don't  make  the  demand  on  Mar- 
tineau  till  Wednesday!"  says  Bob,  determinedly,  and 
goes  away,  though  he  knows  that  it  will  involve  an  ex- 
planation to  Louise. 

However,  after  an  uneasy  night,  the  next  morning 
about  eleven  o'clock  he  goes  into  the  avocafs  office  and 
tells  him  he  intends  to  take  possession  on  Wednes- 
day. 

"  You  had  better  do  it  to-day,"  says  Martineau, 
adding,  rather  sternly :  "  You  gave  a  promise  to  that 
effect  last  night,  and  I  tell  you  you  are  keeping  in 
jeopardy  the  fate  of  two  innocent  and  unfortunate 
creatures,  if  by  any  accident  you  died." 

"  Miss  Tournay  has  been  here  ?  "  replied  Bob. 

"Yes;  she  came  and  asked  my  advice." 

"In  regard  to  me  ? " 

"Yes  !" 

"What  did  you  tell  her?" 


258  BOB    COVINGTON 

"  I  gave  her  no  advice..  I  simply  laid  the  whole 
matter  before  her  from  a  legal  and  social  point  of 
view." 

Then  he  says,  his  voice  growing  stern:  "Now  a 
word  of  advice  to  you,  my  dear  young  friend.  You 
have  a  certain  duty  to  perform  to  those  poor  girls. 
Assume  the  responsibility  the  law  puts  upon  you  and 
make  demand  for  the  Tournay  estate ;  then  you  can 
manumit  Louise  and  Nita  and " 

But  Bob,  remembering  that  Jarvis  had  snapped  his 
fingers  the  night  before,  and  recollecting  that  when 
Jarvis  snaps  his  fingers  he  generally  has  a  startling 
proposition  in  his  astute  brain,  says,  slowly:  "I  will 
not  make  the  demand  before  Wednesday." 

"  Why  not  ?— Doesn't  Jarvis  say  there's  no  chance?  " 

"Yes; — still  not  till  Wednesday;"  then  he  adds, 
humbly:   "  I  have  a  favor  to  ask." 

"What  is  it?" 

•*  I  wish  you'd  advance  me  five  hundred  dollars  on 
my  body-servant,  Mr.  Caesar,  until  that  time." 

' '  Certainly !  "  To  this  the  avocat  adds,  sarcastically : 
"You're  not  playing  poker  very  well,  I'm  afraid." 

"No,"  mutters  Covington.  "I'm  in  mighty  bad 
luck  all  round." 

So  Bob  goes  out  with  his  check  in  his  hand  and  a 
glum  look  on  his  countenance;  for  successful  poker  is 
impossible  to  a  distracted  mind,  and  this  young  gentle- 
man has  been  losing  lots  of  money  in  a  desperate 
attempt  to  achieve  financial  equilibrium. 

His  spirits  are  not  raised  by  the  knowledge  that  he 
will  have  to  explain  his  delay  to  Louise.  In  fact,  Mr. 
Covington,  as  he  walks  toward  Dauphine  Street,  makes 
up»his  mind  that  he  will  not  explain,  and  agitate  his 
sweetheart  by  a  hope,  when  he  has  practically  none 
himself. 

On  entering  the  Tournay  salon,  Mrs.  Joyce  comes  to 
him  and  says:  "  You've  missed  her.  Louise  went  out 
horseback  riding." 

"Any  one  with  her?  " 

"Yes;  a  groom,  of  course.  Louise  didn't  expect 
you  so  soon,  and  the  poor  girl  needed  fresh  air,  so  I 
thought  a  little  equestrian  exercise  would  be  good  for 
her." 


BOB    COVINGTON  259 


c< 


You  are  quite  right,"  assents  Bob,  rather  pleased 
to  postpone  discussing  his  broken  promise. 

"Louise  tells  me,"  remarks  Pamela,  "that  to-day 
you  take  publicly  the  full  legal  control  of  her  and  her 
sister." 

"I  suppose  so,"  mutters  Covington,  who  does  not 
care  to  hear  Pamela's  comments  on  the  matter. 

"I'm  glad  of  it  ! "  cries  Mrs.  Joyce.  "The  anxiety 
has  told  upon  Louise  more  than  you  guess,  though  she 
tries  to  be  carelessly  cheerful  when  you  are  present. 
Now  you  can  free  Nita  and  her.  You  are  going  to  do 
it  at  once,  of  course." 

"Certainly  !  "  And  he  sits  trying  to  chat  with  Pa- 
mela, but  finally,  looking  at  his  watch,  suggests,  anx- 
iously: "Louise  has  been  out  a  long  time.  You're 
sure  she  rides  well  enough  to  control  her  steed  ?" 

"Rides?"  cries  Mrs.  Joyce.  "Like  an  amazon  ! 
You  should  have  seen  her  every  day  for  the  last  year 
at  Beau  Rivage." 

Just  here  there  is  a  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs  outside, 
and  Covington  and  Pamela  step  on  to  the  veranda  to 
meet  a  picture  alluring  to  the  eye  and  pleasant  to  the 
senses. 

It  is  Miss  Tournay,  in  full  riding  costume  of  that 
day,  with  dark  blue  habit — too  long  for  safety,  but  not 
too  long  for  grace — its  bodice  fitting  her  exquisite 
figure  like  a  glove ;  her  beautifully  shaped  head,  decked 
with  brown  curls  and  crowned  with  hat  of  ostrich 
plumes;  her  pretty  hands  and  arms  gauntleted  to  the 
elbows,  and  her  little  feet  cased  in  black,  tight-laced 
riding  boots. 

She  reins  up  her  gray  horse  and  calls  quite  blithely: 
"  Bob,  come  and  help  me  down !  " 

"  With  pleasure !"  cries  Covington,  and  hurries  to 
her. 

"You — you  are  not  angry  with  me — for  going  with- 
out your  permission?  "  she  says,  holding  out  her  hand 
to  him,  yet  looking  at  the  horse's  ears.  "  Mrs.  Joyce 
advised  it!  " 

"Oh,  go  as  much  as  you  like,  dear  one!  "  whispers 
Bob —  "  Only,  next  time  give  me  a  chance  to  go  with 
you." 


2<5o  BOB    COVINGTON 

At  this  she  looks  embarrassed,  but  laughs:  "  Must  I 
get  down  unaided?  Ah,  thank  you.  Bob!"  as  he  lifts 
the  beautiful  creature  from  her  saddle  very  tenderly, 
but  with  slightly  more  punctilio  than  if  she  were  not 
his  bondmaid. 

"  I  was  afraid  you'd  scold  me,"  she  says,  shaking 
out  her  skirts.  "The  roads  are  very  dusty,  but  1 
think  that  gallop  by  the  Lake  did  me  good."  Then, 
looking  at  her  watch — part  of  the  jewelry  that  had  been 
returned  to  her — she  remarks:  "  Can  I  have  been  away 
three  hours?  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late.  Dear  Bob, 
I  hope  I  haven't  kept  you  waiting."  And  placing  her 
hand  on  his  arm,  goes  up  the  stairs  with  him  to  Mrs. 
Joyce,  easily  and  unaffectedly. 

Covington,  as  he  gazes  at  his  sweetheart,  notes 
there  are  two  deep  circles  round  the  lovely  eyes  that 
beam  on  him  in  pathos  and  appeal ;  and,  as  she  catches 
his  glance,  Louise  shrinks  from  him  a  little  bashfully, 
and  her  color  heightens  slightly.  As  they  reach  the 
head  of  the  stairs  the  young  lady's  embarrassment 
seems  to  be  heightened;  she  turns.  Her  riding  habit  is 
held  up  by  one  gloved  hand ;  the  other  flicks  nervously 
her  little  boot,  with  her  riding  whip.  Twice  she  seems 
about  to  speak,  and  Covington,  who  has  learnt  to  read 
his  bondmaid's  vagaries, witcheries  and  rebellions  quite 
accurately,  guesses  she  has  some  confession  to  make 
but  is  nervous — fearing  reproof. 

Louise,  for  the  third  time,  is  opening  her  lips,  and 
now  would  doubtless  speak,  did  not  Pamela,  whose 
social  tact  is  not  of  very  high  order,  suddenly  inter- 
ject: "My  dear,  Mr.  Covington  has  just  told  me  he 
has  taken  you  as  his  property  officially  and  publicly." 

This  announcement  goes  through  the  girl  like  an 
electric  shock.  She  gives  Bob  one  agonized  glance, 
and  grows  deathly  pale ;  suddenly  a  mighty  wave  of 
color  flies  to  the  very  roots  of  her  hair,  she  utters  a 
faint,  inarticulate  cry,  rushes  into  the  parlor,  throws 
herself  on  a  sofa,  and  grovels  over  its  cushions,  but 
doesn't  sob — at  first! 

Covington,  cursing  this  sudden  breaking  of  cruel  yet 
untrue  news,  steps  after  the  afflicted  girl  to  give  her 
sympathy  and  consolation. 


BOB    COVINGTON  261 

Though  she  has  demanded  the  cup,  Louise  finds 
it  too  bitter,  now  it  is  at  her  lips.  She  will  not  be  com- 
forted, and  sighs,  piteously:  "Every  one  will  know! 
People  will  point  to  me  as  your — your  slave,  Bob! 
Branded  on  my  heart!  If  it  wasn't  for  you,  Bob,  I'd — 
I'd  sooner  die  than  take  this  public  degradation." 

Probably  she  would  faint,  did  not  Covington  and 
Mrs.  Joyce  bathe  her  brow  and  put  pillows  under  her 
head,  and  she  lies  on  the  sofa  quite  pale,  wringing  her 
delicate  hands  from  which  they  have  taken  the 
gauntlets. 

UI  will  not  permit  you  that  shame!  It  shall  not 
come  to  you,  dear  one!"  mutters  Covington. 

She,  misunderstanding  him,  replies:  "Ah,  yes; 
I  know.  You  must  now  seclude  me,  as  you  decreed. 
That's  right — that's  kind,  dear,"  she  falters.  "I 
could  not  go  out  riding  again!  People  will  know — 
Monsieur  Soule  will  know — everybody  will  know  I 
am  your  chattel,  Bob."  And  she  wrings  her  hands 
and  sobs:  "The  careless  will  point  and  laugh.  The 
wicked  will  wonder  if  my  master  is  too  kind  to  me 
— the  cruel,  if  they  see  tears  in  my  eyes — and  there  will 
be  lots,  Bob — will  jeer :  '  This  haughty  slave  doesn't  take 
kindly  to  the  whip.'  "  Then  she  goes  on  pleadingly: 
"But  in  your  mercy,  you  won't  keep  me  that  long? 
My  name  goes  right  off,  doesn't  it,  for  manumission  ?  " 

"Of  course!"  gloomily  answers  this  master,  who 
doesn't  know  how  to  tell  his  bondmaid  sweetheart  that 
she  has  suffered  all  this  agony — iinder  a  mistake;  and 
takes  to  soothing  her  as  a  lover. 

Under  his  caresses,  she  murmurs,  attempting  light- 
ness: "Why,  one  would  think  /was  the  ownerjw  the 
serf,  you're  ministering  to  me  so  tenderly,*' for  he  is 
fanning  her.  Then  she  smiles  piteously,  and  whispers 
bashfully:   "Bob." 

"Yes,  dear." 

"Bob,  you — you  haven't  kissed  me  this  morning." 

This  reproach  Louise  doesn't  have  to  repeat,  and 
soon  after,  getting  his  hand  in  hers,  she  murmurs: 
"Tell  me." 

"  Tell  you — dear  one — what?  " 

"Well,  first  the  arrangements  you  think  of  making 
for  my  sister." 


262  BOB    COVINGTON 

Thereupon  Bob,  entering  quite  enthusiastically  into 
the  discussion  of  this  affair,  informs  her  that  his  pur- 
pose is  to  send  Nita  to  Paris,  to  be  educated  in  a  fine 
convent,  and  that  he  proposes  to  settle  half  the  Tour- 
nay  property  on  the  child. 

"Ah,  generous  one !"  cries  his  sweetheart.  "You 
have  made  me  very  happy!  Nita  can  have  a  career 
and  live  a  happy  life  in  a  land  where  her  present  un- 
happy lot  will  not  be  known — or  if  known,  not  degrade 
her."  After  a  little  she  adds:  "We  won't  talk  any 
more  about  these  things  at  present — I'm — -I'm  worn 
out.  Oh  Bob,  branded  as  a  slave  !  "  and  her  lips 
twitch. 

After  a  little  she  grows  calmer  and  remarks :  * *  Come 
this  evening  and  tell  me  what  you  intend  my  fate  to 
be.  Our  love  will  make  that  problem  harder  than  my 
sister's." 

So  Bob  goes  away  without  telling  Louise  he  has  post- 
poned action  to  make  her  freedom  and  Nita's  certain. 

But  like  the  moth  about  the  candle,  he  returns  at 
seven  o'clock  this  evening,  to  be  for  the  moment 
astounded. 

His  sweetheart  is  a  different  creature.  Smiles  have 
taken  the  place  of  tears.  She  is  unnaturally  gay — 
even  to  lightness. 

Louise  comes  in  to  him,  very  beautifully  but  simply 
dressed  in  white — pure  white;  her  arms  and  shoulders 
gleaming  like  ivory,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  an  impas- 
sioned lustre  that  he  doe3  not  understand. 

Mrs.  Joyce  does  not  even  make  pretence  of  em- 
broidering in  the  next  parlor.  The  two  are  alone  to- 
gether. 

His  bondmaid  says  to  him  quite  calmly,  though  her 
lips  and  hands  are  trembling:  "Now  about  myself! 
You  cannot  keep  the  promise  you  so  nobly  made;  the 
law  now  forbids  us  that!" 

"This  is  my  proposition  to  you,"  returns  Bob,  com- 
ing to  his  point.  "  And  mark  me! — any  wish  or  sug- 
gestion or  resolve  of  yours  in  this  matter  shall  be  as 
free  from  my  coercion  as  if  you  were  in  exactly  the 
same  state  as  when  I  first  asked  you  to  be  my  wife — my 
honored  wife !"  Then  he  says,  love,  tenderness,  and  de- 
termination in  his  tone:   "That  I  ask  you  again!" 


BOB    COVINGTON  263 

"Marriage!"  screams  the  girl  in  ecstasy,  then 
falters:   "The  law*forbids!" 

M  Not  here,  but  in  some  other  country  !  After  you 
are  manumitted  I  shall  make  the  same  monetary  set- 
tlements on  you  as  on  Nita.  You  will  go  to  Paris  with 
your  sister;  there  I  will  meet  you;  there  the  orange 
blossoms  that  are  denied  you  here,  shall  linger  upon 
your  pure  brow. " 

"Oh,  Bob  !"  whispers  his  listener,  "that  is  true 
generosity  !  Now  I  know  how  well  you  love  me  !  " 
Then  a  gleam  comes  in  her  eyes;  she  says,  proudly,  yet 
fondly:  "Listen  to  me,  and  learn  hoiv  well  I love  you. 
I  know  all  the  sacrifices  you  have  made  for  me — how 
you've  risked  your  fortune,  embarrassed  your  estate  to 
give  me  here  in  this  State  the  greatest  honor  a  man 
can  do  a  woman.  But  that  is  impossible  !  "  and  she 
begins  to  sigh,  saying,  slowly  and  contemplatively: 
"  Bob,  could  you  not  take  me  to  call  upon  Madame  La 
Farge  ?  "  and  hides  her  head  upon  his  breast. 

"  I  do  not  know  La  Farge's  mother." 

"Of  course  I  don't  refer  to  the  Creole  grande  dame, 
I  —I  mean  his — his  placee — the  one  that  in  courtesy  is 
called  'Madame  La  Farge.'"  Her  foot  is  tapping 
nervously,  her  face  is  very  red. 

"  Good  God  !     What  are  you  driving  at  ?  " 

"  This  !  If  you  marry  me,  your  manumitted  slave, 
there  will  always  be  for  you,  in  this  your  country,  pub- 
lic contempt." 

"But  Europe!"  says  Bob,  determinedly,  "Eng- 
land ! — where  you  can  move  in  a  society  that  will  not 
cast  you  out — where  your  beauty  and  goodness  might 
conquer  for  you  a  social  recognition  that  is  denied  you 
here." 

"You  mean  to  make  an  exile  of  yourself  for  my 
sake  ? "  she  says,  slowly,  as  if  she  can't  believe  his 
words. 

"Yes  !  for  your  sake  if  necessary.  But  I  can  visit 
this  country  alone,  if  business  calls  me." 

1  'Ah !  -  but  would  that  be  a  happy  life  for  you  ?  "  quer- 
ies the  the  girl.  "A  year  with  me  would  be  perhaps — 
love  and  sunshine,"  then  cries:  "I'd  make  it  love  and 
sunshine,  any  way!  But  afterward  ?  "  she  sighs:    "The 


264  BOB    COVINGTON 

second  year — a  longing  for  your  native  land.  Three 
years — the  very  fact — that  I  held  you  from  your 
country  might  make  you  cold  to  me.  Ah,  Bob,  that  I 
couldn't  bear — that  would  be  too  cruel  a  reproach! 
And  I  should  be  looking  for  it.  I  am  very  sensitive; 
you  notice  that  I  have  grown  so — ever  since — Oh,  Bob, 
— ever  since  they  told  me  what  I  was!"  Then  she 
whispers  calmly  but  despairingly,"  Let  us  end  this!  It 
is  torturing  your  heart,  it  is  breaking  mine.  This  is 
what  you  must  do  to  me !  manumit  me,  make  the  settle- 
ment on  me  as  on  Nita,  then  placee  me  here  to  you  as  if 
I  were  of  the — the  mixed  blood  the  law  decrees  I  am. 
I  shall  not  be  alone  then — I  shall  have  society — though 
not — not  the  society  of  a  Christ  Church  wedding! — not 
the  society  that — that  you  thought  would  be  mine — 
when  you  asked  me  to  be  your  bride — when  I  thought 
I  should  be  your  loved  companion  in  this  life — not — 
not  your  petted  slave." 

But  he  springs  up  and  paces  the  room,  and  says, 
doggedly:  "No! — By  Heaven! — no!  Alma  La  Farge 
and  her  sister  are  children  in  intellect  compared  to  you. 
They  have  been  brought  up  to  this  custom;  they  have 
been  taught  to  expect  it  from  chil.lhood.  They  see  no 
degradation  in  it ;  to  them  it  is  right,  proper,  and  usual. 
To  you,  a  member  of  the  Episcopal  Church — to  you 
whose  hanging  head,  whose  teary  eyes  can't  look  me 
in  the  face,  because  you  are  ashamed  of  the  mere 
thought,  it  would  be  degradation  unutterable.  Your 
humiliation  would  be  my  despair.  I  should  see  you 
droop — reproach  in  those  eyes  I  love — would  be  my  tor- 
ment."     And  he  would  take  her  in  his  arms. 

But  she  draws  away  from  him  and  cries:  "You  shan't 
sacrifice  yourself,  Bob  !  I  tell  you,  for  my  sake,  you 
shall  not  destroy  your  career.  You  aspire  to  the  Con- 
gress of  the  United  States.  Married  to  me,  your — 
your  yeller  gal — that's  what  they'd  call  me,  who  would 
vote  for  you  in  your  own  town  of  Lexington,  Ken- 
tucky ?  Who'd  not  scorn  you  in  your  Orleans  Club 
here  ?  What  ladies'  salon  would  be  open  to  you — you 
would  be  as  ostracised  as  me  the  bondmaid  that  you 
stigmatize  yourself  to  wed  !  " 

Then  seeing  how  he  shudders  at  the  mere  thought  of 


BOB    COVINGTON  265 

contempt  of  friends,  class  and  kindred,  she  continues, 
her  voice  ringing  very  clear :  ilI  will  make  the  sacrifice, 
which  is  not  one,  because  I  love  you  so  much  my  life 
will  be  in  you.  You  will  have  your  career,  I  shall  have 
my  love !  I'm  not  ashamed!  See  me — I  can  look  you 
in  the  face!  "  and  she  tries  to,  but  blushes  and  droops. 
"It  will  be  nuptials  of  the  heart — you  said  so  the 
other  night — a  marriage  without  a  ceremony,  which  is 
but  a  form  between  those  who  love."  And  this  poor, 
despairing  girl  would  falter  out  more  words  of  persua- 
sion, and  by  caresses  try  to  prove  to  him  that  she  will 
be  happy  as  a  plac'eed  bride. 

Suddenly  she  pauses,  gazing  at  him,  astounded  at 
the  nobility  of  his  love. 

For  he  stops  her  sternly,  and  perchance  for  a  mo- 
ment shocks  her,  saying.  "A  little  while  ago  I  told 
you  your  wishes  in  this  matter  should  not  be  controlled 
by  me.     Now  I  revoke  the  privilege!  " 

"Ah!" 

"  I  exercise  authority  as  your  master  to  settle  your 
future  state  in  life!     You  hear  that,  Louise?  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  and,  sighing,  trembles  a  little  as  she 
asks:   "What  fate?  " 

"  1 marry  you  in  Paris  !  Prepare  for  that — that  is 
my  will!  " 

"No — no!     You  don't  know  what  you're  doing." 

"That  is  my  business!  Now,  do  you  intend  to  be 
my  obedient  one?  "  And  he  takes  her  in  his  arms, 
and,  holding  her  fair  face  up  to  his,  kisses  her  tears 
away  and  whispers:  "  Do  you  intend  to  be  my  wife  in 
Paris,  as  I  decree?  " 

"Oh,  Bob,  you  noble  one!  "  and  she  hides  her  head 
in  his  bosom,  and  clings  to  him.  Yet,  after  a  little, 
becoming  arch,  she  laughs  in  his  face:  "Of  course  I 
do!     I  daren't  disobey — my  master!  " 

Bob  knows  that  he  has  given  her  all  the  happiness 
he  can  in  her  cruel  strait,  and,  fortunately,  loves 
this  beautiful  yet  helpless  creature  well  enough  to  be 
happy  for  it. 

"I'm  mighty  glad  it's  settled !  "  he  says,  taking  a 
long  breath. 

So,  after  a  little,  he  bids   her  farewell,  and,  coming 


266  BOB    COVINGTON 

out  of  the  house,  sighs  as  if  broken  hearted:  "It  was 
either  my  pride  or  my  love's  chastity — and,  thank 
Heaven!  I  did  not  degrade  her,"  then  mutters,  bit- 
terly: "  By  the  Lord  Harry!  It  was  the  master  went 
to  the  wall  this  trip!  " 

But  a  little  later  in  the  evening,  in  his  own  room, 
thinking  the  matter  over,  he  begins  to  throw  his  locks 
back  from  his  brow  and  pace  the  room  like  a  grizzly 
bear  with  poisoned  arrows  in  him,  giving  out  such  sud- 
den and  violent  paroxysms  of  rage  and  anguish  that 
his  valet,  the  faithful  Caesar,  looking  at  him,  says: 
"  Oh,  Mistah  Covington!  Shall  I  go  fer  a  doctah  ? 
Has  yo'  got  de  jamborees? " 

"  Clear  out  you  blarsted  fool!  "  he  cries,  and  expels 
the  sable  functionary  from  the  room;  then  goes  about 
muttering:  "  By  the  God  of  War,  they'll  call  my  chil- 
dren niggers  !  Oh  God  ! — a  Covington  a  nigger  ! — a  Bob 
Covington  a  nigger! — that's  what  they'll  call  them 
round  here — that's  what  the  law  will  call  them — my 
poor  little  pickaninnies  !  Though,  by  Heaven  and  earth, 
I  know  there's  nothing  but  the  grandest  blood  on  earth 
within  that  beauty's  veins!  " 

Just  here  he  is  interrupted  by  a  bell-boy-knock,  and, 
opening  the  door,  receives  a  letter  that  astounds  him. 
It  reads  as  follows: 

Robert  Covington,  Esq. 
Dear  Sir  : 

I  have  lighted  a  fuse  in  that  Nita  matter  that  will  be  sure  to 
blow  up  a  bomb  ! — if  the  bomb  has  any  powder  in  it !  That's  the 
point ! 

Get  five  thousand  dollars  in  bank  bills  and  put  them  where 
you  can  grab  them  quick — best  in  the  safe  of  your  hotel. 
Checks  won't  do  !     See  to  this  first  thing  in  the  morning. 

Tell  them  at  the  office  of  the  hotel  to-morrow  evening  as  you 
go  out  that  you  will  be  in  by  eleven  o'clock.  Then  be  sure  to 
be  in  your  room  at  ten,  and  don't — for  the  Lord's  sake — try  to 
see  me  or  come  near  my  office  ! 

Yours  hastily, 

Kitson  Jarvis, 
Attorney  at  Law  and  Proctor  in  Admiralty. 

P.  S. — I  don't  think  the  bomb  is  going  to  have  any  powder  in 
it ;  so  don't  get  flighty. 

But  Bob  does  get  excited!  It  is  no  use  to  go  to  bed, 
so  he  walks  off  to  the  Orleans  Club  where  he  changes 
to  hear  something  that  agitates  him  more. 


BOB    COVINGTON  267 

Young  Soule  is  at  a  near-by  table. 

A  gentleman  with  whom  Covington  is  chatting  says 
to  him,  carelessly:  "Hector  has  a  new  sweetheart,  I 
imagine.  He  has  the  greatest  eye  for  beauty  in  all 
New  Orleans. " 

"Eye  for  beauty?  Oh,  you  mean  Soule,"  remarks 
Bob  following  the  other's  glance. 

"Yes;  I  saw  him  with  one  of  the  loveliest  creatures 
in  the  world,  taking  a  ride  by  the  lake   this  morning." 

"Glad  to  hear  that!"  laughs  Covington,  thinking 
that  "the  loveliest  creature  in  the  world"  will  prob- 
ably prevent  the  gentleman  under  discussion  calling  so 
frequently  at  Dauphine  Street. 

"  You  may  be  glad,"  says  his  informant,  "but,  sa- 
pristi,I envied  him !  The  young  lady  was  a  very  fine  horse- 
woman !  A  perfect  example  of  grace — in  dark  blue 
riding  habit  trimmed  with  black  braid,  ostrich  plumes 
of  sable  on  her  head,  and  rode  a  slashing  gray  saddle 
horse — But  what  is  the  matter  with  you?" 

"  N — n — nothing,"  stammers  Bob.  "  Only,  I've 
put  the  wrong  end  of  my  cigar  in  my  mouth." 

"  Yes,  that's  a  nasty  accident!"  says  the  other.  "  It 
happened  to  me  once — but  that  was  the  night  before  I 
went  out  for  my  first  duel — What! — are  you  going?" 

"Yes.  If  I  stay  here  it  may  be  an  omen  for  my 
first  duel !"  remarks  the  Kentuckian,  rising. 

For  the  little  seed  that  Nita  has  planted  has  now 
grown  big  as  a  magic  palm  tree.  But  as  he  goes  home 
he  jeers:  "  I  seem  to  be  getting  the  wrong  end  of  the 
cigar  in  every  way  ;  "  then  mutters,  brokenly  :  "  And 
she  never  mentioned  it!" 


BOOK    V. 

How   He  Saved   Her, 


CHAPTER    XXV. 
"that  old  man  laughed  at  me." 

But  Louise  gets  bad  news  also  this  night! 

Martineau  comes,  late  in  the  evening,  to  ask  her 
what  arrangements  she  and  Mr.  Covington  have  ar- 
rived at,  as  to  their  future  lives;  for  this  old  gentleman 
has  a  very  tender  spot  in  his  heart  for  the  unfortunate 
young  lady. 

So  Arvid,  though  his  gray  eyes  twinkle  till  he  wipes 
his  glasses,  and  his  lip  twitches  as  he  listens,  sits  by 
the  girl's  side,  his  hand  patting  her  beautiful  curls,  as 
Louise  tells  him  of  her  noble  Bob — his  love  and  gener- 
ous self-sacrifice  for  her.  Her  tale  being  ended,  she 
asks:  "  What  did  the  judge  in  chambers  say  when  he 
decreed  Nita  and  me  to  robbery  and  slavery?  " 

"  Nothing.     No  demand  has  been  made  to  day." 

"And  the  notice  of  my  sister's  manumission  and  my 
own  has  not  been  sent  to  Assumption  Parish  ?  '' 

"No;  Mr.  Covington  did  not  demand  possession  of 
the  Tournay  estate." 

"So  Bob  broke  his  promise  and  told  me  nothing 
of  it!" 

"  I  presume,  my  poor  child,  he  cannot  yet  bring  him- 
self to  placard  your  name  as  his  slave,"  replies  Mar- 
tineau. "It  is  despair  to  him  to  inflict  such  humilia- 
tion upon  you !  " 

"Don't  I  know  that,"  she  sighs.  "  But  it  must  be 
done!"  Suddenly  she  remembers  how  she  has  suf- 
fered for  a  degradation    not   yet   put   upon   her.     It 


BOB    COVINGTON  269 

makes  her  angry;  she  sits  thinking  deeply,  then 
quickly  says  to  the  avocate :  ' '  Will  you  kindly  send  a  letter 
for  me  ?   Please ! — It  won't  take  a  moment  to  write  it. " 

Five  minutes  after,  she  places  the  letter  in  Mar- 
tineau's  grasp,  and  he  notices  her  hand  is  feverish  and 
trembles.  But  kissing  hei  forehead,  he  murmurs: 
"  Bon  soir." 

The  moment  he  has  gone  she  runs  to  Pamela  and 
says:  "  Dear  Mrs.  Joyce,  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you. 
It's  only  a  little  ruse  at  which  I  don't  think  Mr.  Cov- 
ington will  be  very  angry,  to  force  him  to  recognize 
me  as  what  I  am.  I  know  his  delay  is  for  some  noble 
motive,  and  for  my  sake;  but  Nita  is  jeopardized  on 
account  of  his  pride  for  me  that  won't  relinquish  this 
useless  struggle  against  fate." 

"What  is  it  ?  "  asks  Pamela,  anxiously. 

u  Oh,  nothing  very  shocking.  Something  that  will 
take  place  right  here  in  the  house,  and  if  Bob  objects, 
none  of  the  servants  need  know.  If  he,  by  his  silence, 
consents,  they  will  see  that  I  have  been  put  in  my  proper 
place;  that's  all.  Let  me  tell  you  about  it."  And 
she  whispers,  hastily,  a  few  words  into  her  companion's 
ear. 

"He  will  be  very  angry." 

"  No,  I  don't  think  that,  and  if  he  is,  his  displeasure 
will  fall  on  me — with  whom  he  has  a  right  to  be  angry 
if  he  chooses.     You  must  let  me  do  it." 

Thus  urged  and  entreated  by  Louise,  Pamela  con- 
sents. Next  morning  Mr.  Covington  receives  a  little 
note  asking  him  to  breakfast  at  the  Tournay  mansion. 
It  is  signed  "Pamela  Joyce." 

Thinking  of  the  fair  arms  that  were  round  his  neck 
last  evening,  and  anxious  to  bring  Miss  Louise  to 
book  about  that  Soule  ride,  Bob  remarks  to  his  attend- 
ant, Mr.  Caesar:  "Get  me  rigged  up  in  a  hurry!  "  and 
shortly  finds  himself  at  the  Dauphine  Street  residence. 

In  the  little  salon  he  is  met  by  Mrs.  Joyce,  who  says, 
striving  by  jauntiness  to  conceal  embarrassment: 
"Just  in  time  for  breakfast,  dear  Mr.  Covington.  Flit 
into  the  dining-room." 

"  Louise;  she  is  not  ill  ?  " 

"Oh,  no!  She — she  will  be  here  presently." 


270  BOB    COVINGTON 

But  entering  the  dining-room,  Bob  ejaculates: 
"  Why,  there  are  only  covers  for  two  /  "  then  iterates, 
anxiously:   "  Louise  is  not  ill?  " 

"Oh,  no.  Some — some  careless  mistake,"  stam- 
mers Mrs.  Joyce.      "  We — we  have  a  new  waitress." 

"Well,  judging  by  the  way  this  table  is  set,"  re- 
marks the  gentleman,  critically,  "I  should  say  the 
wench  must  be  a  jim-dandy!  " 

M  Yes;  it  is  horrible!"  cries  Pamela,  in  dismay,  for 
the  table  has  been  set  in  a  very  reckless  manner,  and 
is  minus  napkins,  salt-cellars  and  a  good  deal  of  the 
etcetera,  of  a  well-served  breakfast.  And  she  tries  hast- 
ily to  arrange  the  things,  muttering:  •'  The — the  wait- 
ress is  new — new  to  her  work." 

"Just  from  the  cotton  field,  I  reckon!  By  hookey! 
that's  a  nasty  crash  !  "  jeers  Bob,  as  the  sound  of  break- 
age comes  from  the  butler's  pantry;  then  mutters 
glumly:  "  You've — you've  not  a  new  cook  also?  " 

"Oh,  no.  I  can  guarantee  the  cook,"  says  Mrs. 
Joyce,  nervously,  and  Mr.  Covington,  taking  the  chair 
assigned  to  him,  finds  himself  at  the  head  of  the  table; 
his  back  being  towards  the  door  to  the  butler's  pantry, 
which  connects  with  the  downstairs  kitchen  by  a  dumb- 
waiter. 

Some  little  time  after,  as  he  is  impatiently  remark- 
ing: "What  a  slow  coach  that  new  girl  is!"  an  arm 
white  as  snow  comes  under  his  eye,  arranging  his 
breakfast  in  front  of  him. 

He  looks  up  with  a  start,  as  a  sweet  voice,  agitated, 
but  humble,  is  saying:  "Monsieur,  will  you  take  tea, 
or  coffee,  or  chocolate  ?  " 

With  a  Kentucky  whoop  he  springs  up  to  see  before 
him,  Louise,  shrinking,  blushing,  embarrassed,  hab- 
ited as  the  dining-room  girl  of  the  Tournay  mansion. 
For  she  has  a  little  maid's  cap  upon  her  fair  head,  a 
light  black  alpaca  maid's  gown  with  ruching  round  the 
neck,  and  sleeves  reaching  to  the  elbows,  thus  baring 
snow  white  arms  for  convenience  of  table  service.  The 
skirt  for  dining-room  menage  is  short,  displaying  liber- 
ally balbriggan  stockings  and  little  slippers. 

"You  see  I've  arrived  at  last  at  my  true  status  in 
the  household!  "  she  says  with  a  tremble  in  her  tones, 


BOB    COVINGTON  27 1 

'"  Will  Monsieur  have  tea,  coffee,  or  chocolate?  After 
the  omelet  there  is  a  steak." 

But  she  says  no  more ;  for  the  waiting-girl  is  sud- 
denly gathered  up  in  Mr.  Covington's  strong  arms 
and  deposited  in  his  chair,  as  Bob  remarks :  "  /  do  the 
waiting."  Then  imitating  her  humble  tones,  he  con- 
tinues: ''Tea,  coffee,  or  chocolate,  Miss  Tournay? 
There  is  also  a  steak  after  the  omelet,  Mademoiselle." 

Louise  makes  an  attempt  to  rise  but  he  whispers, 
sternly:   "  You  sit  there,  Miss  and  eat— I  wait." 

And  he  does  wait,  observing;  "It's  a  pleasure  to 
serve  beauty!  This  is  a  picnic-breakfast;  ladies  first!  " 
and  other  allusions  of  the  kind.  Once  or  twice  his 
thrall  makes  effort  to  rise  from  the  chair,  but  he  com- 
mands quite  sternly  in  her  ear:  "  Louise,  obey  me! 
I  order  you  to  eat  a  good  wholesome  breakfast!  "  then 
bowing  very  low,  asks:  "Would  you  like  waffles  or 
buckwheat  cakes  this  morning,  Mademoiselle? — We 
have  also  maple  syrup!  "  then  entering  from  the  but- 
ler's pantry  suddenly,  says:  "  But  we  haven't!  the  new 
girl  broke  the  syrup  bottle  with  her  butter-fingers  fifteen 
minutes  ago." 

Soon  Pamela  and  Louise  get  to  laughing  despite 
themselves,  and  the  girl  pleads:  "Bob,  please  come 
to  breakfast  with  us.  You  don't  know  how  unhappy 
you  make  me." 

"You  don't  know  how  unhappy  you  make  me !  Do 
you  think  I  could  eat  with  you  standing  behind  my 
chair?  This  is  foolishness!  this  is  nonsense!  If  I 
hadn't  objected,  I  suppose  the  cook  would  have  dis- 
covered, or  Manda  would  have  come  up,  and  then  all 
New  Orleans  would  have  known  there  was  a  new  and 
most  lovely  waitress  in  the  Tournay  dining-room,  who 
stood  behind  Bob  Covington,  her  master's  chair,  served 
him  with  great  display  of  the  prettiest  ankles  in  the 
world,  running  at  his  beck  and  nod  and  trembling  at 
his  frown." 

"But  I  can't  eat  with  you  behind  my  chair  either," 
cries  Louise,  getting  red,  and  tears  almost  gathering 
in  her  blue  eyes,  "  especially  when  you're  scolding  me 
so." 

"Very  well.     If  I  sit  down  with  you,"  remarks  Bob, 


272  BOB    COVINGTON 

"  will  you  stay  by  my  side   and  do  your  duty  by  the 
breakfast  ?  " 

Receiving  a  faltering  "Yes,"  Mr.  Covington,  who, 
to  tell  the  truth,  is  very  hungry  and  is  not  accustomed 
to  seeing  other  people  eat,  yet  getting  none  himself, 
and  has  surreptitiously  stolen  a  bite  or  two  and  pur- 
loined a  cup  of  coffee  in  the  butler's  pantry,  sits  down 
with  Mrs.  Joyce  and  his  sweetheart,  and  soon  they 
finish  an  al  fresco,  impromptu  picnic-breakfast,  for 
Manda,  the  dining-room  girl,  has  been  sent  away  to 
do  other  work  this  morning. 

"  Mrs.  Joyce,"  he  says,  as  he  selects  a  cigar  from 
his  case,  "  where's  Nita  ?  " 

"  I  think  studying  one  of  her  lessons." 

"  Would  you  be  kind  enough  to  see  she  keeps  study- 
ing and  doesn't  come  in  ?  " 

"Certainly,  dear  Mr.  Covington." 

And  Pamela  going  out,  he  thus  addresses  the  new 
abigail,  who  is  still  seated  at  the  breakfast  table,  ner- 
vously balancing  a  spoon  upon  her  fork:  "Louise, 
please  come  here  !  " 

"  Certainly,  sir."  And  Miss  Tournay  stands  before 
him,  looking  most  entrancing  in  the  simple  costume. 

As  he  gazes  his  eyes  grow  very  tender,  though  in- 
dignant, as  he  breaks  out:  "  Do  you  suppose  I'll  per- 
mit you  to  make  me  blush  to  the  nape  of  my  neck  by 
standing  behind  my  chair  ?  You  forget,  Louise,  you're 
my  affianced."  His  arm  goes  round  her  and  he  takes 
her  to  his  heart  and  kisses  her  blushing  cheeks. 

But  she  says:  "  Bob,  you  must  acknowledge  me  as 
your  slave  to  free  me !  " 

"Ah,  some  one  has  told  you!" 

"  That  you  have  not  yet  taken  public  title  to  me  ? — 
Yes." 

"  Then — you — you  insist  on  my  treating  this  little 
escapade  of  yours  from  a  serious  standpoint  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir!  "  with  a  curtsey. 

"Very well,"  he  says,  glumly.  "  Have  your  way — 
exhibit  yourself  as  the  waitress  of  the  Tournay  man- 
sion." Next,  as  though  to  frighten  her  from  her  re- 
solve, adds  sharply:  "A  light  for  my  cigar — quick! 
And  while  you're  about  it,  the  morning  paper!" 


BOB    COVINGTON  273 

But  she  replies,  humbly:  "  Yes,  sir,"  and  tripping 
daintily  and  gracefully  about,  lights  h\s  perfecto,  and  in 
a  moment  places  the  morning  Picayune  in  his  hand ; 
then  curtseys,  asking:     "Anything  else,  sir?" 

"Not  at  present.'  He  puffs  away  glumly,  and 
casts  abstracted  eyes  over  the  journal.  Though  she 
is  the  most  beautiful  and  exquisite  wai  ing-girl  in  all 
the  world — though  she  is  his  waiting-girl — he  seems 
ashamed  to  contemplate  her.  Suddenly  a  line  in  the 
paper  catches  his  eye.      He  grows  interested. 

As  he  reads,  Louise,  standing  behind  him,  awaiting 
his  convenience,  gets  tired ;  a  servant's  pose  fatigues 
her  delicate  limbs.    She  says:  "Bob." 

No  answer. 

"Bob!"  pleadingly. 

"Yes,  dear,"  still  reading  the  paper. 

You  mustn't  call  your  waiting-maid,  dear!  and  I 
wish  you'd  tell  me  to  do  something.  Shall  I  wash  the 
dishes  ?" 

"And  redden  those  pretty  hands? — Certainly  not! 
Jump  up  on  that  chair  and  dust  those  curtains  well;  a 
feather  duster  is  more  becoming  than  a  dish-rag." 

"  But  some  one  will  see  me.  The  window  is  open. 
This  dress  is  awful  short!" 

"  Not  too  short  for  a  waiting-girl !  You  can  stay  up 
there  till  I  tell  you  you  can  come  down.     You  want 

people  to  know  you're  my  slave "  he  shivers  at  the 

ugly  word — and  goes  to  reading  the  paper  again, 
eagerly,  intently. 

Then  very  bashfully,  inspired  by  his  jeers,  Louise 
seizes  a  feather  duster,  jumps  upon  a  chair,  and,  stand- 
ing in  the  window  in  plain  sight  of  the  street,  begins 
to  fleck  uneasily  the  summer  dust  from  off  the  curtains. 
She  peers  timidly  out.  Joy  and  rapture! — nobody  is 
passing  in  the  dreamy,  summery  noon  day  of  the  old 
French  quarter.  She  goes  to  brushing  desperately, 
every  now  and  then  flirting  the  feathers  viciously 
about,  hoping  the  cloud  of  dust  will  reach  Bob's  nos- 
trils that  he  may  give  her  permission  to  step  out  of  the 
public  eye.  But  now  he  seems  to  have  no  thought  ex- 
cept the  newspaper. 

Suddenly  the  girl  begins  to  blush  and  quiver  and 
falters  plaintively:   "Bob,  let  me  step  down." 


274  BOB    COVINGTON 

No  answer. 

"Bob — some  one  is  looking!  A  horrid  old  man!" 
and  she  springs  from  the  chair  and  stands  before  him 
saying,  mutinously :   "I  don't  care ;  I  won't  stay  there !  " 

"Why  are  you  not  at  work?  " 

M  Oh,  there  was  a  horrid  old  man  looking  at  me  as  I 
stood  up  on  tiptoe  in  the  chair  and  dusted.  It  was 
that  awful  creature  who  got  a  tip  from  you  at  the  race, 
and  gave  you  his  dirty  card.     Why,  what's  the  matter?  " 

For  Covington  has  sprung  to  the  window  and  is  look- 
ing eagerly  out.  A  moment  after,  he  closes  the  blinds, 
returns,  and  says:  "  You're  so  ashamed  of  being  seen 
as  a  slave!    My  poor  darling  it  was  your  imagination." 

"  No,  it  was  not!  He  went  round  the  corner.  He's 
a  horrid  thing!" 

"Why?" 

"Oh,  well,  this  dress  is  so  short.  He  looked  at  me 
and  laughed,  and  then  he  glanced  up  and  saw  you — 
and  seemed  to  jeer  in  my  face.  Oh,  Bob — it's — it's 
awful  to  be  what  I  am!"  And  with  a  despairing  sigh 
she  drops  on  her  knees  before  him  and  puts  her  head 
in  his  lap,  and  sobs  rack  her  graceful  frame. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

GAME-COCKS    AS    WATCHDOGS. 

After  a  little  time,  he  says:  "Now,  a  truce  to 
this  nonsense!  You  must  let  me  manage  the  affair  in 
my  own  way.  Go  to  your  room,  put  on  one  of  your 
everyday  dresses,  appear  as  you  have  before;  then 
come  to  me — I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"You're  going  to  scold  me  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I'd  sooner  you  did  that  than  be  namby- 
pamby!  Bob,  I  hate  a  man  who  is  not  determined!" 
Then,  putting  nose  in  air,  she  says,  "As  if  I  were 
afraid  of  you!"  and  runs  off  in  better  spirits  than  she 
has  been  before  this  morning. 

He  still  sits  reading  this  curious  item — one  he  has 


BOB    COVINGTON  275 

gone  over  half  a  dozen   times — in  the  coIuoils  of  the 
Picayune: 

BURGLARY  PREVENTED  BY  GAME-COCKS. 

Faval  Bigore  Poussin,  the  sporting  notary,  now  swears  by 
Spanish  chickens.  The  last  steamer  from  Havana  brought  him 
a  large  consignment  of  Cuban  game-cocks,  for  use  at  Rodri- 
guez's pit.  He  roosted  them  for  the  evening  in  his  back  office, 
and  in  the  middle  of  the  night  was  awakened  by  the  most  tre- 
mendous crowing  since  the  cock  of  St.  Peter.  Fearing  that  Men- 
doza,  the  rival  game-cock  man,  was  stealing  his  roosters,  Pous- 
sin flew  in,  pistol  in  hand,  followed  by  his  mulatto  boy,  but  dis- 
covered that  an  attempt  had  been  made  upon  his  safe,  in  which 
he  stores  only  old  papers.  The  burglars,  to  aid  them  at  their 
nefarious  work  had  turned  on  a  dark  lantern,  the  light  had 
started  roosterdom,  cockadocdle-doo  !  Poussin  fired  two  shots, 
probably  without  effect,  at  the  miscreants,  who  would  not  have 
obtained  much  if  they  had  broken  into  or  carried  off  hi  s  safe 
Poussin's  wealth  being  chiefly  game-cocks,  coupons  for  non- 
winning  Havana  lottery  tickets,  cards  for  coming  cock  and  dog 
fights,  and  losing  betting  cards  for  horse-races.  However, 
Poussin  now  glorifies  the  Spanish  rooster,  stating,  as  a  watch- 
dog, he  beats  a  terrier,  and  is  equal  to  the  goose  of  ancient 
Rome. 

What  the  deuce  it  means  Covington  can't  guess.  It 
has  something  to  do  with  Poussin,  and  he  shrewdly 
imagines — something  to  do  with  Jarvis.  Poussin's 
safe! — could  Kitson  think  there  might  be  evidence  in 
that? 

Contemplation  of  this  problem  in  broken  in  upon  by 
Louise,  returning,  dressed  as  Miss  Tournay  of  old. 
She  says,  a  little  anxiety  in  her  voice:  "  Now  for  the 
scolding! " 

44  Very  well.  Come  into  the  parlor  and  sit  by  me, 
so  I  can  pet  you  if  I  frighten  you  too  much  " 

44  Oh,  you  must  frighten  me  a  g?-eat  deal." 

"Why?" 

"More  petting,  of  course!"  And  she  sits  by  him, 
and  puts  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  looking  up  in 
his  eyes,  droops  hers  and  whispers:  "Now,  my  dear 
master." 

"And   in  that   authority   I  address  you,"   remarks 


276  BOB    COVINGTON 

Bob.  "  You  must  leave  this  matter  in  my  hands,  as  to 
the  time  I  take  official  ownership  of  you  and  Nita. " 

"But  Monsieur  Martineau  says  I  have  been  your — 
your  property  ever  since  I  surrendered  myself  to  your 
attorney."  And  she  hangs  her  head  as  she  sits  beside 
him. 

But  he  goes  on,  uncompromisingly :  ' '  I — I  have  gone 
over  this  matter  with  you  sufficiently.  I  now  tell  you 
that,  since  you  will  not  conform  to  my  ideas,  I  shall 
enforce  them." 

"Very  well!  " 

"Now,  stand  in  front  of  me — I  want  to  look  in  your 
face."  And  his  voice  grows  like  a  judge,  as  he  says: 
"You  were  riding  on  horseback  yesterday." 

"Yes,"  faintly. 

"Who  was  riding  by  your  side?" 

A  sudden  start  goes  through  the  girl.  Her  face 
grows  red  as  a  peony.  Then  she  rises  to  her  full 
height  and  says,  firmly:   "  Monsieur  Hector  Soule." 

"  And  you  never  told  me  of  it?"  His  voice  is  very 
sad. 

"I — I  was  going  to,  Bob — but  all  we  had  to  speak 
of  yesterday  put  it  out  of  my  mind."  Then  she  pouts: 
"  It  wasn't  much.  Soule  chanced  to  be  riding  too, 
and — meeting  me  at  the  Lake,  rode  by  my  side  for  half 
an  hour." 

"  The  groom  at  the  regulation  distance  behind,  I 
presume,"  returns  Bob,  savagely;  and  his  brow  grows 
very  dark  as  he  chews  his  moustache  grimly. 

But  she  startles  him  by  saying,  in  that  proud  humili- 
ation that  always  makes  him  pity  her  and  yearn  over 
her:  "  Do  you  ask  these  questions  as  my  master,  or  as 
my  betrothed  ? " 

"As  both." 

"  Then  I  will  tell  you  as  my  betrothed,  that  the  sus- 
picion implied  in  your  question  is  unworthy  of  you-;  un- 
worthy of  me/"  next  sobs,  "  Bob,  do  you  think  for  one 
moment  that  my  whole  heart  and  soul  are  not  yours, 
after  the  sacrifice  I  offered  to  make  for  you  but  yester- 
day ?  "  and  sinking  on  her  knees,  puts  her  head  in  his 
lap  and  says:   "Forgive  me  as  my  lover." 

"What  man  could  doubt  you,  Louise  ?"  he  cries,  as 
he  fondles  her. 


BOB    COVINGTON  277 

"  Now,"  she  continues,  "  to  you  as  my  master  I  ad- 
mit I  should  have  told  you  of  Monsieur  Soule's  atten- 
tion !  But.  Bob  Covington  has  forgiven  me  !  Pooh 
for  what  Mr.  Covington,  my  master,  does  about  the 
matter  !  " 

"Just  the  same,''  suggests  her  sweetheart,  "no 
more  horseback  rides  unless  I'm  at  your  side,  eh  ?  " 
And  he  playfully  takes  her  little  ear  between  his  thumb 
and  finger. 

"  Oh,  you  will  go  with  me  ?  Then  they  will  be  in- 
deed a  pleasure  !  " 

"Also,"  Bob  remarks,  perchance  a  little  moodily, 
"  I  think  you'd  better  not  be  at  home  if  young  Soule 
calls  in  the  next  few  days." 

"  Do  you  order  it  ?" 

"  No  !" 

"Then  I  will  do  it  with  joy.  Don't  fear — I'll  be 
out  to  Monsieur  Hector  whenever  you  wish." 

"And  now,"  she  falters,  her  face  growing  pale:  "  I 
have  a  confession  to  make  to  you." 

"  Humph  !  Another  Soule  episode  ?"  and  Bob's  eyes 
flash  and  his  brows  lower  again. 

"No — no  more  Soule.     He  is  finished  for  the  pres 
ent,"  she  returns,  airily,  rather  pleased  that  Covington, 
whom  she  loves  with  her  whole  heart,  yet  holds  some- 
what in  awe,  has  a  weak  spot  in  his  armor  which  she 
can  probe  at  will. 

"What  then?" 

"  Bob,  don't — don't  be  angry  with  me!  Promise  me 
you  won't  be  angry  with  me!" 

"What  have  you  done?"  he  asks,  anxiously;  for  her 
nervous  manner  has  alarmed  him,  as  in  fact  it  has  done 
all  this  day. 

"I — I  sent  to  the  Clerk  of  Assumption  Parish." 

"What?" 

"  Notice  of  the  registration  of  Nita  and  myself  as 
your  property.  Forgive  me!  I  wanted  to  save  your 
love  and  pride  in  me  that  pang!" 

"  Louise,  you  haven't  dared]  " 

"Yes,  Bob;  every  breath  of  freedom  you  steal  from 
my  sister  and  myself  seems  like  centuries." 

Then  his  manner  frightens  her;  he  cries,  hurriedly 
and  hoarsely:  "How  did  you  send  it?" 


278  BOB    COVINGTON 

U  T »> 

"Answer  me,  Louise — I  demand  it,'" 

"  As  my  master  ?"  says  the  girl,  proudly. 

"No,  as  your  lover,  whose  heart  will  break  at  your 
humiliation!" 

"Then  I  gave  it  to  Monsieur  Martineau  to  post." 

"Thank  God!"  falters  Covi  gton,  and  she  sees 
him  run  from  the  room  and  fly  down  Dauphine  Street, 
as  she  laughs:  "He's  too  late!  That  letter  was 
posted,  if  not  last  night,  at  least  this  morning!" 

But  Covington  is  not  too  late ! 

In  Martineau's  private  office,  the  avocat says  to  him: 
"  Here  is  a  letter  Louise  asked  me  to  post.  I  happened 
to  glance  at  the  address,  and  thought  it  wiser  for  her 
sake  and  for  yours  not  to  post  it  until  you  approved 
it." 

"  I  thank  you  very  much!"  replies  Covington. 
"  Louise  is  getting  into  such  a  state  of  nervous  agita- 
tion over  the  matter,  she  doesn't  know  what  is  for  her 
best  interests." 

"Are  you  sure  you  do?"  asks  the  old  lawyer,  search- 
ingly. 

Then  Jarvis's  instructions  coming  into  his  mind,  Bob 
says,  hurridly :  "  I  must  obtain  from  you  five  thousand 
dollars  more." 

"  Mon  Dieu!  How  badly  you  play  poker!"  gasps  the 
avocat. 

"No — not  poker!  I  wish  to  use  it  in  the  Nita 
matter." 

"  Ciel!"  my  poor  boy!  You  are  ruining  yourself  for 
a  chimera!" 

"You  have  my  farm  as  your  security.  It  is  worth 
a  hundred  thousand  dollars.  Besides,  if  it  is  a  chimera, 
the  Tournay  estate  is  mine." 

"  Oh,  very  well.  Sign  your  name  to  this  note;  make 
it  at  ten  days — you  will  surely  take  possession  in  that 
time."  And  Martineau  gives  him  a  check  for  the 
money. 

This  he  cashes  at  the  bank,  putting  the  bills  in  a 
big-envelope,  and  buttoning  it  up  in  his  pocket,  returns 
to  the  Tournay  mansion  to  find  in  its  parlor  a  very 
mutinous  young  lady. 


BOB    COVINGTON  279 

To  her  he  hands  the  note  silently,  and  she  breaks 
out:  "Even  Martineau  would  not  post  a  letter  for — for 
the  poor  slave-girl  Louise."  then  sneers,  icily:  "I 
thank  you,  my  master,  for  your  consideration  in  not 
putting  upon  me  the  humiliation  of  opening  it."  Next 
tearing  the  envelope  open,  she  hands  it  to  poor  Bob, 
remarking:  "It  is  my  duty  to  let  you  read  it — other- 
wise 1  may  be  whipped!" 

"  Great  snakes!  Louise!  Don't — don't  torture  me  by 
making  me  feel  I  am  your  tyrant  !  "  begs  Covington. 

"Oh,  yes;  you  ought  to  read  it.  You  should  read 
every  letter  that  I  inscribe.  Some  day  I  might  write 
a  little  note  to  Monsieur  Soule!  " 

But  this  kind  of  conversation  makes  Bob  look  so 
savage  that  she  changes  her  tone  and  bombards  him 
with:  "  When  are  you  going  to  take  legal  possession 
of  the  Tournay  estate?  To-morrow,  as  you  promised?  " 

And  he,  thinking  of  Jarvis's  note  and  the  strange  ar- 
ticle he  has  read  in  the  newspaper  this  day,  shocks  her 
by  saying:  "  I  do  not  know!  I  shall  not  take  posses- 
sion so  long  as  there  is  the  slightest  chance  for  you. 
For  your  sake  I  have  a  little  hope." 

As  the  words  leaves  his  mouth  she  screams:  "  You 
have  hope  ?  Oh,  Heaven  and  earth,  and  mercy  and 
goodness,  you  have  hope!" — Her  eyes  beam,  her  face 
is  illuminated  as  with  the  glow  of  a  new  sun.  She  daz- 
zles him,  yet  shocks  him. 

11 1  have  but  little,"  he  sighs  helplessly,  and  sees  the 
sunlight  leave  his  sweetheart's  face. 

Suddenly  her  eyes  grow  desperate.  She  cries:  "  For 
my  sake  have  no  hope!  Take  Nita  and  me  as  your 
chattels,  so  you  can  manumit  us!  It  is  your  duty — J 
demand  it  as  your  affianced  wife!" 

"  As  your  affianced  husband  I  will  not  put  shame 
upon  you  that  cannot  be  taken  off — until  I  choose !"  he 
says,  doggedly.  Then  rather  awes  this  young  lady  who 
is  looking  commandingly  on  him,  by  taking  her  in  his 
arms,  seating  her  on  his  knee  as  a  child,  and  telling 
her  if  she  is  disobedient  he  will  punish  her  severely  ; 
but  also  kissing  her  and  begging  her  to  give  herself 
one  little  chance. 

Under   his  caresses  she    grows   calmer,    perchance 


28©  BOB    COVINGTON 

even  more  rational,  and  at  last  comforts  him  by  say- 
ing: "Yes,  Bob;  I  suppose  I  must  consider  you 
right;"  then  looks  into  his  face  and  murmuring:  "  Any 
penalty?"  puts  up  her  lips  to  his  and  makes  him  as 
happy  as  he  can  be  in  this  strait. 

After  a  little,  however,  she  grows  flight;  again, 
for  the  agitations  of  this  awful  waiting  have  made 
this  sensitive  being  high-strung,  restive,  almost  hysteri- 
cal. But  her  petulance  and  nervousness  add  to  her 
charm,  and  for  half  an  hour  she  fascinates  with 
alternate  tender  love  and  pleading  witchery,  this  man 
whose  pride  for  her  has  now  become  his  torture. 
Finally  she  jeers:  "  Bob,  do  you  know  you've  got  the 
most  rebellious  bondmaid  in  the  world  before  you?" 

"The  most  charming!"  he  says. 

"Compliments  for  a  slave-girl?  Pooh!  Do  you 
know  what  I  advise  you  to  do  with  me  to-day?" 

"  Kiss  you?" 

"  No;  lock  me  up  in  my  room!  If  you  don't  I'm 
sure  I  shall  do  something  desperate." 

"Nonsense!  You  talk  as  if  you  were  a  Fatima  and 
I  a  Bluebeard!  " 

"And  did  not  Fatima  get  Bluebeard's  throat  cut? 
Bob,  I  tell  you  that  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  put 
rne  under  lock  and  key. " 

But  he  doesn't;  and  laughs  at  her  and  caresses  her 
and  says  she's  too  pretty  to  be  put  out  of  sight. 

Perchance  he  had  better  have  taken  her  advice. 

For  when  he  has  gone  away  she  pouts:  "  He  will  not 
take  official  charge  of  the  estate  to-morrow.  He  will 
again  delay  Nita's  manumission  and  mine,  for  some 
poor,  crazy,  hopeless  scheme  of  his  to  prevent  our 
being  placarded  as  his  property." 

Then  Satan,  who  has  often  been  in  the  heads  of 
beautiful  slave-girls  before,  gets  into  this  one's,  taking 
position  au  naturel  in  Louise's  fervid  brain.  She  sud- 
denly cries:  "Soule!"  then  jeers  "  Bob  Covington, 
I'll  make  you  acknowledge  me  your  slave  to- 
night !     I  swear  it!  " 

Ten  minutes  after,  a  little  blackamoor,  bearing  a 
scented  billet  doux,  departs  for  the  Orleans  Club. 


BOB    COVINGTON  281 

CHAPTER    XXVII. 

" silence,  louise!" 

Her  note  has  the  desired  effect.  Monsieur  Soule, 
very  proud  and  very  happy,  for  this  gentleman  admires 
exceedingly  this  young  lady,  raps  on  the  door  of  the 
Tournay  residence  about  eight  o'clock  this  evening. 

Covington,  who  has  become  nervous,  anxious,  and 
fretful  himself,  perhaps  on  account  of  the  freaks  of  his 
fair  sweetheart,  and  more  so,  perchance,  because  of 
Jarvis's  strange  letter  of  the  night  before,  eats  a  gloomy 
supper  at  the  Verandah.  Then,  mindful  of  Kitson's  in- 
structions, he  deposits  the  five  thousand  dollars  in  the 
hotel  safe,  also  leaving  careful  word  at  the  office  that 
he  will  return  at  eleven  o'clock  this  evenkig;  but  not 
before. 

He  turns  his  steps  towards  Dauphine  Street,  for  his 
sweetheart,  though  she  tortures  him,  fascinates  him 
wondrously  all  this  day.  Coming  near  the  Tournay 
house  something  like  an  hour  after  young  Soule,  he 
sees  lights  in  the  parlor  and  hears  the  sound  of  Louise's 
voice  and  the  piano.  "  Over  her  tantrums,  eh  ?  Poor, 
anxious  girl!"  he  thinks. 

But  entering  the  salon,  he  gets  the  tantrums.  Hec- 
tor Soule,  with  very  ardent  eyes,  is  bending  over 
Louise,  who  looks  lovely  as  an  houri  stolen  from  Para- 
dise. Gazing  at  her,  Bob  gasps:  "She's  got  on  that 
cursevi  Pelican  Ball  dress!  "  and  remembering,  casts 
evil  eyes  upon  the  garment. 

For  his  bondmaid  is  wearing  the  proscribed  costume, 
and  more  dazzling  and  beautiful  in  it  than  perhaps  she 
had  been  the  night  he  asked  her  to  be  his  bride.  Both 
fair  cheeks  have  hectic  flushes  on  them,  making  the 
delicate  ivory  of  her  shoulders,  arms,  and  bosom  shine 
as  snow  under  the  waxlights  of  the  room.  Her  bright 
eyes  gleam  like  fire  opals.  In  the  many-colored  gauzes 
of  this  sylphide  dress  she  flits  about,  a  rainbow  queen, 
or  rather  a  naughty  fairy  who  is  going  to  work  a  very 
bad  enchantment  this  same  evening. 


282  BOB    COVINGTON 

There  is  Within  her  eyes  a  sneaking,  apologetic  glance 
as  she  rises  to  meet  her  master.  For  she,  even  while 
she  does  this  thing,  is  penitent.  She  knows  she  has 
disobeyed  him;  she  knows  she  has  wounded  him;  she 
knows  she  has  even  shocked  him ;  for  now  it  must  be 
apparent  she  deceived  him  when  she  said  she  would  re- 
ceive the  dashing  young  Creole,  Hector  Soule,  no 
more. 

And  Bob  knows  it  too,  and  his  heart  grows  heavier 
than  it  has  been  in  all  this  month  of  troubles.  He 
stands  before  her,  his  breath  half  taken  out  of  his 
body  by  astonishment  and  shock,  by  pain  and  anger. 

Of  the  three,  Soule  seems  in  much  the  best  spirits, 
being  quite  good  natured,  as  young  beaux  often  are, 
when  elated  by  a  new  and  dazzling  conquest.  He 
rather  laughs  to  himself,  poor  Covington  looks  so 
glumly  at  him. 

But  Bob,  having  the  savoir /aire  of  the  man  of  the 
world,  bows  coldly  but  politely  to  this  gentleman  whom 
he  now  considers  his  rival,  and  the  three  sit  down,  con- 
versing on  the  matters  of  the  day.  For  Louise  stops 
her  music  and  perches  herself  gracefully  on  a  little 
sofa  with  her  two  admirers  conveniently  in  front  of  her 
on  either  hand,  and  they  proceed  to  a  triangular  con- 
versazione that  makes  Bob  writhe  upon  his  chair. 

Still  all  would  run  along  within  the  limits  of  conven- 
tional politeness,  were  it  not  that  Louise  has  made 
promise  to  herself:  "  Bob  Covington,  my  master,  shall 
claim  me  as  his  bondmaid  to  this  gay  young  gentleman 
who  looks  at  me — so — so  flatteringly." 

And  she  would  doubtless  make  Mr.  Covington  speak 
out  and  perchance  sharply  to  her,  did  not  he,  making 
a  shrewd  guess  at  her  idea,  close  his  mouth  and  keep 
his  tongue  quite  still,  though  sometimes  his  teeth  will 
grind  themselves  together. 

"Monsieur  Soule,"  Louise  says,  a  touch  of  almost 
tenderness  in  her  voice,  "you  were  riding,  I  presume, 
to-day?" 

"Yes,  Mademoiselle;  I  had  hopes!"  This  is  em- 
phasized by  an  ardent  glance. 

"  Ah,  thank  you!  So  had  I,  hopes  too."  She  returns 
the   language   of   his   eyes,  then  goes   on,  an   uneasy 


BOB    COVINGTON  283 

snicker  in  her  tones:  "  But  I  could  not  come;  I  was 
detained  by  domestic  duties."  And  glancing  sneak- 
ingly  at  Bob,  murmurs:  "We  had  a  buttery  fingered 
dining-room  girl  this  morning.  Mr.  Covington  was  at 
breakfast  and  criticised  her  service;  he  thought  the 
wench  must  have  just  left  the  cotton-field." 

Despite  himself,  Bob  emits  a  horrid,  uneasy,  rasping 
laugh. 

"You  are  amused,  Monsieur  Covington?"  asks 
Soule." 

"You  would  not  have  been  had  you  waited  twenty 
minutes  for  your  breakfast  as  I  did,"  savagely  mutters 
the  gentleman  addressed. 

"  Why,  Bob  had  awful  trouble  -with  our  dining-room 
girl.  You  know  as  guardian  he  is  potentate  of  this 
house,"  cries  Louise,  giving  an  uneasy  smile,  then  goes 
babbling  on  to  young  Soule:  "  What  would  you  do, 
Monsieur  Hector,  with  a  dining-room  girl  who  sets  the 
table  horribly  and  breaks  half  the  dishes  in  the  butler's 
pantry  at  her  first  essay  of  table  service  ?  I  told  Mr. 
Covington  she  ought  to  be  whipped." 

"  Oh,  there's  no  telling  what  may  happen  to  the  new 
dining-room  girl,  yet!  "  laughs  Bob,  in  jeering  tone.  It 
is  the  only  ungenerous  speech  he  has  made  under  the 
torture  and  he  despises  himself  for  it  as  he  sees  his 
bondmaid  color  to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  then  grow  pale 
and  tremble  and  bite  her  pretty  lip. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  Mademoiselle  Tournay," 
murmurs  the  young  Creole.  "  My  mother  supervises 
all  our  old  family  servants,  who  are  like  members  of 
the  family  itself.  I — I  suppose  you  had  better  sell 
her." 

"Ah,  that's  the  idea!  Cousin  Bob,  Monsieur  Soule" 
suggests  you  might  sell  the  dining-room  girl."  Then 
Miss  Tormentor  adds,  suggestively,  as  she  glances  at 
the  ardent  Creole:  "  You  might  not  have  to  go  far  to 
find  a  purchaser." 

To  this  Mr.  Covington  answers  nothing.  Once  or 
twice  his  lips  have  opened,  but  his  tongue  has  given  no 
sound,  though  his  glance  is  a  very  nasty  one  as  he 
casts  it  upon  the  suggested  new  proprietor  of  all  these 
fairy  airs  and  graces ;  for  Louise  is  most  vivacious  now. 


284  BOB    COVINGTON 


1  i 


I  will  make  him  speak !  "  thinks  his  exquisite  bond- 
maid, almost  savagely.  "  Even  if  he  chastises  me;  " 
and  bites  her  lips.  For  she  knows  she  has  run  up  a 
pretty  good  score  for  herself  and  proceeds  to  add  to  it 
by  being  very  tender  with  the  eyes  to  her  master's 
rival,  and  saying :  ' '  You  like  the  Lake,  Monsieur  Soule? 
So  do  I.  What  do  you  think  of  another  morning's 
ride?"  making  as  it  were  appointment  with  him. 

But  Covington  holding  the  arms  of  his  chair,  says  no 
uord,  though  his  eyes  grow  very  cold,  yet  have 
flashes  in  them,  and  become  those  quiet,  deadly  eyes 
that  are  peculiar  sometimes  in  Western  men  of  long 
forbearance  but  very  terrible  when  roused — the  eyes  of 
Davy  Crockett,  of  Colonel  Bowie — Kit  Carson's  eyes. 

Then,  finding  words  will  not  make  this  gentleman 
cry  out,  Louise  takes  more  potent  measures.  The 
card  of  invitation  to  the  Pelican  ball  lies  upon  an  escri- 
toire; it  suggests  a  means. 

"  Monsieur  Hector,  you  were  on  the  committee  who 
were  kind  enough  to  send  me  this  invitation,  I  believe?" 

"  Yes,  I  had  that  honor.  But  you  were  not  there. " 
-"  No;  this  was  the  dress  I  had  prepared  for  it,  but 
circumstances  prevented  my  going.  Monsieur  Coving- 
ton doesn't  approve  of  the  robe,  though  'tis  the  latest 
fashion.  These  crinoline  effects  made  Madame  La 
Comtesse  de  Soissons  the  observed  at  a  grand  ball  at 
the  Tuileries.  Monsieur  Covington  thinks  it  shows 
my  twinkling  feet  too  often  and  too  much."  And  she 
gives  the  skirtsv  a  coquettish,  wavy  motion.  "I  will 
get  your  judgment  on  the  subject."  Then  she  calls: 
"  Mrs.  Joyce — Pamela!  Come  and  play  for  me!  "  and 
cries:  "  Un,  deux,  trots ,  Jete!  Assemblez ! — Dancing 
school  lesson  !  Monsieur  Covington  has  seen  the  little 
affair."  And  she  seems  full  of  gay  spirits,  laughing 
grace,  and  very  happy — though  her  heart  is  like  to 
break. 

But  she  has  won. 

Mr.  Covington,  rising,  says,  stiffly:  "Louise,  you 
need  not  call  in  Mrs.  Joyce  to  the  piano. "  Then,  bow- 
ing to  the  Creole,  remarks:  ''Miss  Tournay  will  not 
dance  for  you,  Monsieur  Soule,  this  evening." 

"Oh,   but    I   will!"    cries    Louise,    "and    without 


BOfe    COVINGTON  285 

music!"  and  takes  position,  extending  slippered  foot 
and  dazzling  ankle,  in  a  way  that  makes  Bob  grind  his 
teeth. 

11 1  forbid  you  to  dance!  "  he  says,  sternly. 

"  And  I  forbid  you  to  use  that  tone  of  insulting 
command  to  a  young  lady!"  Monsieur  Soule"  remarks, 
rising  also. 

"And  why  not?" 

"  Because  I  will  not  permit  any  man  to  speak  to  a 
young  lady,  whom  I  honor  and  esteem,  words  of  brutal 
command  that  are  an  insult!" 

But  the  girl  cries  out:  "  Nonsense!  Quarreling 
about  a — "  and  would  come  between  them. 

But  Bob  says  in  such  an  awful  voice  that  it  stills  even 
her  tongue  for  a  second:   "  Silence,  Louise!" 

To  this  Soule  exclaims:  "  I  forbid  you  to  use  that 
tone!' 

And  Louise  cries  out:  "I  will  speak!  I  will  tell 
him • 

"Silence!" 

"  It  is  nonsense  for  gentlemen  to  quarrel  about  a — " 

Before  the  syllable  can  leave  her  tongue,  Coving- 
ton's hand  is  clapped  over  her  fair  lips,  which  struggle 
to  utter  the  word  that  will  say  she  is  his  chattel.  His 
arm  is  round  her  waist,  in  a  flash  she  is  picked  up  and 
borne  through  the  second  sa/on,  through  the  din- 
ing-room, into  the  butler's  pantry,  and,  with  a  whis- 
pered: "Silence,  if  you  love  me  !"  put  down  upon  a 
dresser. 

Before  her  astonished  senses  give  her  motion,  she 
hears  the  click  of  key  in  lock ;  she  is  a  prisoner.  Cov- 
ington, striding  out  through  the  other  rooms,  closes 
each  door  behind  him  to  drown  her  voice,  and,  coming 
into  the  parlor,  locks  the  door  behind  him,  and,  putting 
the  key  in  his  pocket,  confronts  the  astounded  Soule\ 

Then  the  young  Creole,  stepping  up  to  him,  says: 
"Monsieur,  you  are  no  gentleman!  I  know  not  by 
what  authority  you  act  to  this  beautiful  young  lady  as 
a  brute ;  but  you  have  my  defiance,  sir  !  " 

The  reply  astounds  Soule  still  more.  "You're  quite 
right,  Hector,"  says  Bob,  "  under  the  circumstances  I 
would  say  exactly  the  same  as  you." 


286  BOB    COVINGTON 

"  Ah,  then,  you  have  some  explanation  to  make  of 
this  strange  affair?" 

"None!  only  I  would  suggest  Miss  Tournay's  name 
shall  not  be  mentioned." 

"Certainly,  sir!  But  you  have  my  defiance  and 
may  expect  to  hear  from  me!" 

And  Soule  marches  from  the  apartment,  wondering 
if  Covington,  who  has  always  seemed  to  him  a  court- 
eous gentleman,  has  not  gone  mad. 

Then  Bob,  unlocking  the  pantry  door,  releases  his 
captive,  and  she  comes  out  to  him,  a  strange  terror  in 
her  face.  Not  the  terror  of  a  slave  who  fears  chastise- 
ment, but  of  a  woman  who  fears  danger  to  him  she 
loves. 

"You  may  come  out  now;  you  have  had  your  way," 
he  says,  sternly. 

"Ah,  you  have  told ! — Thank  God,  Bob,  you  have  told 
him!  "  And  her  arms  go  round  him,  as  she  murmurs, 
sneering  at  herself :  "Monsieur  Soule  could  better  pro- 
tect a  bondmaid  by  his  check-book  than  his  sword." 

At  this  suggestion,  he  shivers  and  unclasps  her  arms, 
then  mutters:   "I  have  told  Soule"  nothing!" 

"  Nothing  ?  "  Then  seeing  what  he  means,  she  bursts 
out  in  despairing  sneer:  "Oh,  heaven!  the  Creole 
dandy  is  going  to  draw  his  sword  for  a  slave-girl!  He 
will  be  the  laughter  of  New  Orleans.  And  you,  Bob," 
you  will  be  thought  foolish,  too;"  next  falters:  "  I  beg 
of  you  to  placard  my  name  to  prevent  a  meeting  with 
young  Soule. 

"Humph!  Bob  Covington  isn't  built  that  way!  I 
placard  your  name  when  I  please — that  I  tell  you  as 
your  master.  As  your  lover,  I  tell  you  I  will  fight  to 
keep  you  from  being  branded  as  my  slave  as  long  as  I 
elect — that  you  will  see  when  Monsieur  Soule  sends  his 
second." 

And  she  screams:   "My  God,  Bob!  If  he  kills  you!  " 

And  he,  mistaking  the  cause  of  her  alarm,  laughs: 
"Ah!  That  would  destroy  your  chance  of  manumis- 
sion." 

"Oh,  that's  generous — generous  to  the  woman  who 
told  him  she  would  place'e  herself  for  his  sake!  Oh, 
Bob,  that's  noble T  she  cries  to  him;  then  adds,  sadly, 


BOB    COVINGTON  287 

and  with  reproachful  eyes:  "And  yet,  of  course,  you 
can  say  it  to  me.  I  am  your  chattel — that  makes  me 
to  you  defenseless." 

"Pardon  me,"  says  Covington,  hoarsely :  "  I  am  your 
master — that's  the  reason  I  am  defenseless  to  you," 
then  bursts  out,  indignantly :  ' '  But  do  not  think  when 
I  face  Hector  Soule's  pistol,  your  fate  will  be  in  dan 
gerif  I  fall.  To-night  I  make  my  will,  leaving  to  Mar 
tineau,  as  trustee  for  you  and  little  Nita,  the  Tournay 
estate  and  all  else  I  have.  I  sign  your  papers  of  man- 
umission; I  direct  Martineau  to  see  that  they  are  exe- 
cuted; I  make  every  arrangement,  dead,  that  I  could 
make  for  your  safety,  your  happiness,  your  future  life, 
living;  save  one — that  is  to  show  that  you  are  white 
and  therefore  free  !  " 

"No — no!     You  must  not  meet  him!  " 

"And  why  not  ?  " 

"Fighting  for  a  slave-girl?  Oh,  Bob,  the  easy  way  is 
to  put  our  names  up,  and  take  possession  of  the  estate. 
Soule  would  then  understand  that  you  were  only  chas- 
tising, too  mildly,  a  rebellious  slave.  You've  got  to 
do  it  now !  "  she  says  in  triumph.  "  You've  got  to  ac- 
knowledge me  as  your  chattel!  " 

"That  would  be  to  acknowledge  myself  a  coward! 
The  world  would  say:  ■  He  did  not  brand  her  until  his 
fears  of  a  rival's  pistol  compelled  him  to  assert  the 
beautiful  Miss  Tournay  was  his  bond-maid.'  You  don't 
suppose  that  I  would  be  respected  here  for  coming  to 
this  town  and  taking  all  the  property  of  two  poor  girls 
and  binding  them  to  my  triumphal  car  as  slaves — even 
though  the  law  says  it  is  right  and  just!  You  know 
the  sentiment  of  this  community  would  respect  even 
an  abolitionist  more  than  it  would  me.     I  keep  silent !  " 

"And  still  let  this  thing  hang  over  Nita  and  myself, 
keeping  us  one  day  longer  from  being  free? " 

"Ah!  You  know  why!"  he  cries,  despairingly. 

* '  Yes,  I  know  why —  Yes,  I  don't  know  why !  Some- 
times I've  thought  to-day,  Bob  Covington,  that  you 
were  tricking  us  poor  girls;  that  you  did  not  intend  to 
manumit  us  at  the  last;  that  you  loved  me,  perhaps, 
too  well  to  tell  me  this,  but  not  too  well  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  your  authority  as — as  my  master  in  the  end!  " 


288  BOB    COVINGTON 

"Good  God!  You  don't  mean  your  words,  Louise," 
he  whispers.  And  throws  back  the  hair  from  his  fore- 
head and  gazes  at  her,  awful  reproach  in  his  honest 
eyes. 

But  she,  not  heeding  him,  continues:  "  Oh,  yes;  it  is 
easy  to  go  on  and  make  promises.  You  promised  Sun- 
day it  would  be  Monday.  You  promised  Monday  it 
would  be  Wednesday!  And  now  on  Tuesday  night  you 
say,  '  not  Wednesday — P  riday — some  other  day ! '  Oh 
— can't  you  see  it's  breaking  my  heart — breaking  my 
heart — because  sometimes  I  don't  think  you  love  me!  " 

"  You  know  that  is  not  true!  " 

"Well,  whether  you  love  me  or  whether  you  don't 
love  me,  perhaps  I  don't  love  you — perhaps  I  love  Mon- 
sieur Soule — there!"  Then  she  screams:  "No — no 
— no!  Not  that!  My  God!"  For  she  has  seen  in 
Bob's  eyes  a  glint  that  means  if  Soule  doesn't  challenge 
him  he  will  challenge  Soule — and  kill  him  if  he  can! 

"  Listen  to  me!"  says  Covington.  "  I  have  at  my 
own  expense,  and  to  my  own  sacrifice,  kept  you  from 
putting  the  brand  of  slave  upon  yourself,  because  it 
would  break  my  heart  as  well  as  yours.  I  wanted  to 
give  you  the  last  living  chance.  That  is  the  reason  I 
have  not  said  to  the  world  you  are  my  property — I  am 
thy  master.  Louise!  I  had  put  you  up  on  a  cloud — a 
rainbow;  I  did  it  the  first  week  I  saw  you — that  happy 
week  when  you  know,  Louise,  the  sun  was  very  bright 
to  both  of  us,  but " 

"  But  this  is  talk — which  you  are  always  making!  If 
you  love  me,  take  me  as  your  slave  and  manumit  me! 
I  demand  it!  You  have  no  right  to  assume  that  it  is 
your  whim  or  pleasure  when  I  shall  be  free.  Every 
day  of  freedom  you  steal  from  me  is  a  robbery  I  will  not 
forgive!"  she  cries,  angrily. 

"  Listen  to  me!"  his  voice  is  very  stern  now,  and  he 
looks  to  her  like  master  to  rebellious  slave-girl.  "  This 
is  my  ultimatum!  You  remain  quietly  here  in  this 
house  till  Monsieur  Hector  and  I  have  settled  our  af- 
fair." 

"No — no!  Silence  might  condemn  both  of  you  to 
death!" 

"Ah!    As  I  thought.     You  would   send  a  note  to 


BOB    COVINGTON  2S9 

Soule.  I  know  what  is  in  your  mind!  A  letter  to  say 
you  are  my  slave.  I'll  see  that  doesn  t  happen!  "  he 
says  with  flashing  eyes.  "  I  will  give  you  one  last 
chance,  despite  yourself!"  then  mutters,  brokenly: 
"  And  if  it  does  not  come,  humble  my  pride- — call  out 
to  the  world — this  woman  I  adore — my  pride— my 
heart — my  love — my  promised  wife  is  slave  to  me — to 
free  her  /  " 

''That  will  be  too  late!"  she  shudders.  "Then  I 
may  have  your  blood  or  Soule's  on  my  hands,  for  this 
mad  freak.  Forgive  me,  Bob — forgive  me!  "  a  tone  of 
horror  in  her  voice;  next  cries  out  to  him  desper- 
ately: "My  ultimatum  is  that  you  come  here  to- 
morrow, early  in  the  morning,  before  Soule's  second 
meets  you — come  here  and  I  will  stand  behind  your 
chair  and  as  your  slave,  waiting  upon  you  with  Manda! 
Come  here — scourge  me  into  submission — it  is  your 
right  by  law — if  I  am  rebellious.  And  I  will  think  more 
of  you  than  if  you  dawdle,  dawdle  with  the  chances  of 
my  life!" 

"It  is  my  will,"  he  says  very  quietly,  "  that  you  re- 
main here  and  send  no  more  notes." 

"If  I  refuse?" 

"Then  I,  as  your  master,  call  to  Mrs.  Joyce  and 
say  to  her:  'Take  this  girl  Louise,  lock  her  in  her 
room,  and  see  she  communicates  with  no  one.'  " 

"  That  is  not  necessary!  Mrs.  Joyce  need  not  be 
degraded  if  I  am!  You  have  my  word — I  am  your 
prisoner  till  you  in  your  kindness,  as  my  master,  per- 
mit me  to  leave  my  chamber. " 

"You  will  write  to  no  one?" 

"  Oh,  let  me  tell  him!  It  may  save  your  life!  My 
God — don't  make  me  your  murderess — or  his  J" 

And  he  says,  slowly,  to  her:  "  You  shan't  save  his 
life!  Give  me  your  word  to  remain  in  your  chamber 
and  send  no  message  by  word  or  writing!" 

"And  if  not?" 

"I,  thy  master,  shall  put  you  in  solitary  confine- 
ment!" 

"I  will  save  you  that  ignominy,"  she  says,  haught- 
ily. "  Mr.  Covington  you  have  my  word  to  keep  my 
room  and  speak  to  no  one   without  your  permit,"  then 


290  BOB    COVINGTON 

curtsing  to  the  ground,  sneers  :s  "  I  thank  you  for 
your  kindness  that  you  have  not  scourged  me  for  my 
disobedient  tongue!"  and  turns  to  go.  But  at  the  door 
she  faces  him.  He  looks  at  her  as  she  stands  posed, 
the  gauzes  of  her  robe  floating  about  her  loveliness 
ethereal  ;  and  she  is  to  him  as  she  was  the  night  she 
gazed  into  his  eyes  and  first  said  "  I  love  you."  But 
now  with  one  white  arm  upraised,  these  awful  words 
come  floating  from  her  lips:  "  A  hint  from  me,  my  mas- 
ter. Whatever  you  do  with  me,  for  your  own  sake — 
place"  e  me  or  marry  me  as  you  will — but  placee  me  or 
marry  me  before  you  free  me." 

"  Why  that?"  gasps  Covington. 

"  Because  when  the  cage  is  opened  the  bird  might 
flyaway."  Then  her  eyes  blaze  into  his.  Her  voice 
grows  harsh  and  strident.  She  says  in  words  that  grow 
bitter  on  her  tongue:  "  I  am  tired  of  looking  on  a  face 
that  always  says  to  me  I  a?n  a  slave. " 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

"BOB  COVINGTON  ISN'T  BUILT  THAT  WAY  !  " 

Stricken  by  his  sweetheart's  bitter  words,  Bob, 
with  a  deep  sigh,  staggers  silently  from  the  house. 

In  his  brain  buzzes  one  thought:  "She  said:  'I'm 
tired  of  a  face  that  always  reminds  me  I  am  a  slave! ' 
Tired  of  my  face!"  he  sighs,  "But  not  of  his!" 
then  thinks:  "I  shouldn't  have  cared  to  see  young 
Soule  before  my  pistol  sights — but  now,  look  to  your- 
self, my  Creole  dandy!  "  and  his  eye  grows  cold  and 
deadly.  But  as  he  walks  the  street  his  thoughts  be- 
come more  collected ;  he  thinks:  "  If  I  meet  Soule  to- 
morrow I  must  do  my  duty  to-night!  I  must  see 
Martineau  and  make  the  will  I  promised,  and  sign  all 
necessary  papers. " 

In  this  view  he  goes  hurriedly  to  his  room  at  the 
hotel,  to  obtain  some  necessary  memoranda  and  re- 
ceive —  astonishment. 

He  enters  to  find  his  parlor  lighted  and  Mr.  Caesar 
entertaining  Kitson  Jarvis. 


BOB    COVINGTON  291 

"That's  a  right  cute  darky  you've  got,  Covington," 
says  the  attorney,  rising.  "Better  give  him  five  dol- 
lars and  let  him  go  out  and  play  poker  for  a  while!  " 

So  this  being  done,  and  Mr.  Caesar  departing  with 
joyous  guffaw  and  rapid  stride,  Kitson  says:  "  He's 
safe  to  be  away  all  night,  with  a  five-cent  limit." 

"You  want  to  see  me?  "  mutters  Bob,  gloomily;  for 
he  had  forgotten  Jarvis  in  his  misery. 

"  Like  a  house  afire!  " 

"Ah!  You  have  evidence! 

"None  at  all!  but  I  can  tell  you  this  :  that  if  you 
don't  hear  within  twenty-four  hours  from  Faval  Bigore 
Poussin,  you  can  be  certain  beyond  an  earthly  perad- 
venture  that  Louise  and  Nita  can  never  be  free — ex- 
cept by  your  emancipation.  It's  only  one  chance  in  a 
million;  but  Nita's  got  the  chance.  That  I've  been 
able  to  give  her — that  is,  if  you've  got  the  five  thousand 
dollars." 

"They  are  in  the  safe  below,  obtainable  at  any  mo- 
ment." 

"  Well,  that's  business!  Now  I'll  talk  to  you.  Turn- 
ing this  Nita  matter  over  in  my  mind,  suddenly  it 
struck  me,  as  I  snapped  my  fingers  in  your  presence 
the  other  night,  this  cute  idea.  There's  only  one  man 
living  who  can  impeach  Poussin's  title  to  the  mother 
of  those  girls,  that  is  Poussin  himself  j — and  he  won't  do 
it!" 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  abducting,  stealing,  kidnapping,  and  un- 
lawfully vending,  and  putting  in  bondage  free  white 
males,  females,  or  children,  is  a  state's  prison  offense. 
And  Poussin  would  like  to  see  a  few  more  cock-fights 
in  his  declining  years." 

"  But  there  was  amnesty  declared  to  Lafitte  and  his 
band  for  all  acts,  pirate  or  otherwise — " 

"  That  was  in  1815  !  Poussin  sold  Eulalie  Camile  in 
1832!  That  amnesty  don't  work.  Poussin  knows  it 
as  well  as  anybody." 

"  Then  if  Eulalie  Camila  were  not  his  slave,  why  did 
not  Poussin  tell  Prosper  Tournay  when  the  father 
wished  to  free  his  daughters  ?" 

"Poussin  knew  Tournay  better  than  you.     Tournay 


292  BOB    COVINGTON 

would  have  said:  '  My  fifteen  hundred  dollars  and  my 
six  bales  of  cotton  and  my  two  bales  of  tobacco,  with 
interest  at  eight  per  cent. !  Return  them  to  me,  and  I 
won't  have  you  indicted.'  And  would  have  very  cheer- 
fully, learning  his  daughters  were  not  slaves,  have  put 
Poussin  through  a  course  of  financial  sprouts.  No; 
under  the  circumstances,  if  he  was  not  the  owner  of 
Eulalie  Camila,  Poussin  has  wisely  waited  to  sell  his 
information  on  that  subject  to  you/" 

"To  ME?" 

"  Yes,  to  you  !  And  I  have  put  him  on  the  track  of 
doing  it.  I  approached  him  and  said  I  was  acting  in 
the  interests  of  Louise  and  Nita;  that  you  had  claimed 
and  now  had  possession  of  the  estate,  and  were  hold- 
ing both  girls  as  slaves;  and  I  offered  him  big  money, 
if  there  was  any  flaw  in  his  title  to  the  mother,  if  he 
would  reveal  it,  telling  him  I  was  sure  they  were  of 
pure  Castilian  blood — not  a  trace  of  color  in  it." 

"And  he?"  says  Bob,  suddenly,  for  he  is  forget- 
ting his  misery  now  in  the  excitement  of  Mr.  Jarvis's 
communication. 

"  He  said  he  had  made  one  affidavit  for  me  stating 
his  sale  of  the  mother  of  the  girls;  that  he  had  traded 
her  in  the  regular  way  of  business,  and  that  was  all  he 
knew  about  it.  Furthermore  he  stated  Eulalie  Camila 
had  been  his  legal  property,  and  that  nobody  could  prove 
she  hadn't  been.  Then  I  knew  that  if  there  was  any  flaw 
in  his  claim  to  the  girl  that  he  sold  Prosper  Tournay, 
he  would  come  to  you  and  sell  the  information  to  you." 

"Tome!     Why?" 

"  Because  you,  holding  the  Tournay  estate  and  the 
girls,  would  be  willing  to  pay  him  a  mighty  good  price 
for  it — to  destroy  it.  No  danger  of  your  letting  it  get 
to  the  eye  of  a  court  of  justice,  eh  ?  " 

"  And  he  thinks  me  such  an  infernal  scoundrel  ?  " 

"Yes — he  judges  you  by  himself.  He  judges  you'd 
do  as  he  would  do,  and  as  a  great  many  other  men 
would  do — buy  the  evidence  and  destroy  it.  Now 
there's  still  one  thing,"  continues  Kitson,  "that  can 
delay  this  matter — that  is,  if  Poussin  can  really  im- 
peach his  own  title  to  Eulalie  Camila." 

"What?" 


BOB    COVINGTON  293 

"His  certainty  that  you  are  in  possession  of  the 
Tournay  estate,  and  hold  Louise  and  Nita  as  your 
chattels." 

"That  I  think  was  settled  to-day,"  cries  Bob;  and 
hurriedly  tells  Kitson  the  incident  of  Louise  at  the 
window. 

"By  gum  !  That  was  proof  enough,  wasn't  it?" 
chuckles  Jarvis,  "and  Louise  said  he  looked  at  you 
and  grinned  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Then  I  can  tell  you  that  if  you  don't  hear  from 
him  to-night  you  can  make  up  your  mind  there's  noth- 
ing to  the  Nita  case,  and  that  /  have  given  you  absolute 
proof  that  there's  nothing  to  it/  Now,  what  I  came  here 
for  is  to  tell  you  how  to  act.  This  is  a- matter  that's 
got  to  be  juggled  by  you,  and  if  you  can't  play  the 
villain,  and  handle  this  little  affair  in  a  right  down 
cold-blooded,  heartless,  scoundrelly  manner,  I  don't 
think  he  will  dare  give  you  the  evidence — that  is  if  he's 
got  any — even  for  money  ! 

' '  Listen  to  my  instructions.  In  case  Poussin  comes  to 
you,  no  matter  how  he  reflects  upon  your  honor,  no 
matter  whether  you  want  to  dash  out  his  infamous 
brains,  you  must  treat  him  as  I  direct. 

"You  must  appear  infernally  surprised  at  seeing 
him.  Any  suggestion  that  he  has  evidence  in  the 
case,  you  must  treat  as  if  you  thought  it  worth- 
less! State  your  position — that  the  girls'  mother  was 
a  slave,  sold  by  him,  and  that  his  own  affidavits  are  to 
that  fact;  that  the  girls'  father  thought  them  slaves  and 
was  prepared  to  manumit  them,  but  didn't.  In  fact,  you 
must  play  him  as  you  would  a  fish.  Then  he  will  tell 
you  that  he  has  evidence  that  will  disprove  that.  To 
this  you  must  answer,  '  Give  me  proof — not  only  by 
your  own  affidavit — which  won't  be  worth  much,  con- 
sidering you  have  made  another — but  also  by  collateral 
facts  !  ' — suggest  to  him  to  show — by  evidence  out  of  his 
old  safe,  or  something  that  he's  got — that  his  tes- 
timony would  be  fatal  to  your  holding  the  Tournay 
estate.  Tell  him  if  he  proves  that  and  furnishes  you 
the  papers,  you  will  give  him  the  money  you  agree 
upon.  But,  until  he  gives  you  evidence  that  would,  in  a 
court  of  justice,  free  the  girls — nary  a  red !  " 


294  BOB    COVINGTON 

"  You  think  there's  something  in  that  safe  in  his  of- 
fice? "  asks  Bob,  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  the  one  on  which  the  game-cocks  played  the 
watchdog?  That  wasn't  a  real  attempt  to  steal;  that 
was  just  a  bit  of  a  ruse  c  f  my  clerk,  Alfred  Cotain,  to  give 
Poussin  a  little  fright  and  make  him  move  in  a  hurry 
in  the  matter.  Poussin's  old — if  he  died — good-bye 
the  last  chance!  The  papers,  if  there  are  any,  wouldn't 
be  of  much  use  without  his  explanations.  I  don't 
think  there's  much  sh;  w  in  the  matter;  but  if  there 
is  any  show,  my  client,  Nita  has  got  it!  " 

But  even  while  he  speaks  there  is  a  bell-boy's  rap 
upon  the  door,  and  Convington,  opening  it,  commences 
to  tremble,  and  looks  at  Kitson  and  holds  under  his 
eye  a  facsimile  of  the  dirty  card  that  had  been  given  to 
him  on  the  battlefield  of  New  Orleans.  "  Faval  Bigore 
Poussin,  Notary,  Cockfights   at    Rodriguez's." 

Then  Jarvis  seizes  Convington  and  holds  him  up, 
**or  he  is  shivering  as  if  he  had  the  ague,  and  his  lips 
twitch,  and  tears  are  in  his  eyes,  as  he  gasps:  "Do 
you  believe — can  it  be  possible — my  darling?" 

To  this  Kitson  whiskers:  "  Looks  as  if  your  darling 
would  be  as  free  as  you  or  I.  Looks  as  if  this  was  the 
last  day  you  would  be  her  master.  Looks  as  if  she 
would  flit  away  from  you  whenever  she  darned  choose ! 
Looks  as  if  I  get  that  extra  three  thousand  in  the  Nita 
case,"  then  cries:  "Brace  up!  "for  Convington  has 
grown  very  pale,  and  is  muttering  to  himself:  "She's 
tired  of  the  face  that  always  says  to  her  she  is  a  slave. " 

But  Jarvis  whispers  to  him:  "  Tell  the  man  to  come 
up  !  Just  give  me  a  chance  to  slip  round  the  corner  and 
get  out  of  the  way,  so  Poussin  won't  see  me.  This  af- 
fair is  now  in  your  hands.  Pour  brandy  down  ye — lots  of 
it  !  Nerve  yourself  to  fire  yourself  out  of  the  purtiest 
fortune  lawyer  ever  got  for  client." 

So  the  attorney  goes  away,  leaving  Covington  to 
fortify  himself  with  brandy  bathe  his  head  with  cold 
water,  and  give  himself  the  manners  of  a  villain,  to 
draw  a  scoundrel's  evidence  out  of  him. 

Then  he  sits  and  waits;  suddenly  his  heart  fails  him; 
he  fears  Poussin  has  gone  away.  But  a  moment  after, 
it  is  thumping  harder  than  ever,  for  there  is  a  knock 


BOB    COVINGTON  295 

upon  the  door,  and  to  his  muttered  "Come  in  \  "  he 
sees,  as  the  door  opens,  the  old  face  with  the  cun- 
ning eyes,  and  the  bent  figure  with  the  deprecating 
gestures,  and  hears  in  the  low  suave  voice  of  Faval 
Bigore  Poussin:  "  Monsieur  Covington,  I  believe.  I 
had  the  pleasure  of  receiving  from  you  a  tip  upon  the 
great  four-mile  race,"  and  closing  the  door  after  him 
carefully,  he  sits  down,  Covington  contriving  to  indi- 
cate a  chair. 

Ci  Oh,  you've  come  for  another,  have  you  ?  May 
meeting  in  Kentucky,  I  reckon,"  says  Bob  puffing 
away  at  his  cigar,  though  his  fingers  tremble. 

"  Not  entirely.     I — I  have  come  on  business. " 

"  Business  with  me?  " 

"  Important  business.  I  have  been  waiting  for  this 
time  for  over  a  year." 

"What  time?" 

"Ever  since  Prosper  Tournay  died.  Monsieur 
Covington,  you  are  a  very  lucky  man;  you  have  come 
by  inheritance  into  the  Tournay  estate.  You  took 
possession  of  the  property  so  quietly  that  I  did  not 
know  of  it;  otherwise  you  should  have  had  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  me  before.  You  have  a  very  beautiful  slave  at 
the  Tournay  residence.  I  saw  her  this  morning.  She 
is  your  waitress,  I  believe;  she  was  dusting  the  curtains 
in  the  window  and  she  looked  so  timid,  her  eyes  had 
even  tears  in  them  as  she  gazed  on  you,  her  master. 
I  said :  *  She  has  been  guilty  of  some  fault  of  menage ; 
soon  she  will  beg  him  to  excuse  her  from  the  lash  and 
he  will  kiss  her  tears  away.'  When  I  came  back  the 
blinds  were  drawn,  the  beautiful  slave  was  having  her 
tears  kissed  away, — eh,  Monsieur  Covington?" 

Here  Bob,  fighting  to  hold  himself  in  the  chair 
and  not  throw  Poussin  out  of  the  window,  and  so  de- 
stroy the  affair  at  once,  contrives  to  gasp:  "Damned 
high-spirited!  " 

And  the  notary  goes  on:  "You  looked  so  comfort- 
able as  the  owner  of  it  all,  as  you  sat  there  smoking 
your  fine  cigar  and  reading  the  morning  paper  while 
your  slave-girl  did  your  bidding  about  the  room,  that 
I  said :  '  It  is  a  shame  to  disturb  a  fine  gentleman  in  so 
fine    a   property;  therefore  I  will  come — to  him — not 


296  BOB    COVINGTON 

gO  to  Monsieur  Jarvis,  who  is  the  attorney  for  two 
beautiful  slaves,  who  are  not  slaves. '  " 

"Not  slaves  ?"  screams  Bob,  in  such  a  crazy  tone 
that  Poussin  thinks  it  is  the  fear  of' awful  loss,  not  the 
agitation  of  mighty  joy  and  maddest  hope! 

"  Certainement  /"  he  purrs,  "  These  young  ladies  are 
only  slaves  at  my  will." 

"  At  my  will,  you  mean !  " 

"No — pardon  me — at  my  will.  For  Faval  Bigore 
Poussin  has  a  little  evidence  that  can  turn  Mr.  Coving- 
ton out  of  the  Tournay  estate." 

"You  mean  it?"  whispers  Bob,  so  tremulously  that 
Poussin  knows  he's  a  villain. 

So  he  goes  on  quite  confidently:  "Yes,  Monsieur. 
Evidence  I  could  sell  to  the  young  ladies  you  unjustly 
hold  as  your  slaves,  for  untold  money — evidence  that 
their  mother,  Eulalie  Camila,  was  not  my  slave  to  be 
sold — was  never  a  slave — was  never  of  a  class  or  blood 
who  can  be  slaves  in  law." 

1 '  You  mean  she  was  white  ?  " 

"As  white  as  you  or  I!  Of  the  purest  Castillian 
blood!" 

"Then  why  the  devil  don't  you  sell  it  to  the  girls? " 

"  Because  I  think  Monsieur  will  pay  me  more  money." 

"  Pooh !  "  says  Bob,  biting  his  cigar  in  two  his  jaws 
are  shaking  so,  but  forcing  his  brain  to  work.  "  You 
can't  prove  it!  " 

"  I  can  prove  it  to  you  !  " 

"Then  sell  it  to  the  girls!  "he  laughs,  his  nerves 
a-quivering  so  he  can't  keep  still,  and,  springing  up, 
goes  staggering  about,  but  finally,  getting  near  Pous- 
sin, slaps  him  on  the  shoulder  till  he  screams,  and  jeers: 
"  Because  you  dare  not!  " 

"I — I  would  prefer  to  sell  the  evidence  to  you, 
Monsieur!"  snarls  the  notary,  wincing. 

"It's  of  no  use  to  me!"  sneers  Bob,  whose  nerves 
are  easier  for  their  outbreak. 

"  But,  Monsieur,  if  it  is?" 

"  Very  well,  prove  it  to  me!"  And  Covington  falls 
into  a  chair  and  listens,  the  persperation  standing  in 
beads  upon  his  forhead,  he's  so  anxious. 

" Eh  Men!"  says  the   little  man.      "  Listen  to    my 


BOB    COVINGTON  297 

story.  In  18 15  I  was  the  agent  of  Lafitte's  band. 
After  the  amnesty  proclamation,  before  Jean  Lafitte 
departed,  never  to  be  heard  of  again,  he  brought  to  me 
three  little  children — two  blacks,  which,  he  said,  'you 
sell,  and  distribute  the  money'according  to  regulation 
of  the  band,'  and  one  white  child,  an  infant  girl,  two 
years  of  age,  saying  to  me :  'I  wish  to  make  atonement 
in  this  matter.  This  child  is  of  high  Spanish  birth. 
Her  father,  Don  Hernandez  de  Rivera,  was  killed 
when  we  captured  the  brig  Santo  Espirito,  two  months 
ago.  The  mother  sickened  and  died  soon  after  she 
saw  her  husband  fall ;  our  rough  privateering  ways 
were  too  hard  for  her  delicate  soul  and  sensitive  body. 
Here  are  a  few  things  from  her  father's  body,  and  her 
mother's  neck,  that  will  prove  to  the  Spanish  relatives 
the  identity  of  the  child.  Return  her,  either  with  or 
without  ransom.' 

"  Then  I  said:  'It  shall  be  with  ransom  ! '  and  sent 
word  to  the  Havana  of  the  matter.  But  Don  Her- 
nandez de  Rivera  had  no  relatives  in  Cuba.  The  rest 
of  the  family  were  in  Spain,  still  torn  up  by  the  war  of 
Wellington.  I  knew  they  must  be  impoverished.  I 
said :  \  Why  demand  a  ransom  there,  when  I  can  obtain 
a  greater  price  here  2' — for  the  child  promised  to  have 
a  beauty  that  would  make  men  pay  many  piastres  for 
her — when  she  had  become  a  woman. 

"The  child  was  brought  up  with  the  pickaninnies  on 
my  place.  In  the  state  of  servitude  I  placed  her,  educa- 
tion would  have  been  against  the  law,  except  some  music 
and  dancing — things  that  might  heighten  her  value  in 
the  eyes  of  an  indulgent  master — for  she  grew  up  beauti- 
ful as  the  sun  in  heaven,  and  very  spirited.  But  at  last 
I  conquered  her,  and  she  bent  to  my  will  as  master. 
Until,  finally,  Prosper  Tournay,  the  poet-exquisite, 
chanced  to  pass  my  way,  and  saw  a  wild  flower  grow- 
ing on  my  plantation  and  wanted  it,  and  I  sold  it  to 
him.  And  she  cried  out — for  Tournay  had  a  winning 
way  with  women:  'I  love  him  !'  but  pleaded  for  a 
marriage.  The  marriage  of  a  slave  could  not  be  legal. 
But  Prosper  Tournay,  to  please  his  beautiful  bond- 
maid, went  through  before  me,  as  notary,  a  little  cere- 
mony that  amounted  to  nothing  were  she  a  slave,  but 


298  BOB    COVINGTON 

to  everything  as  she  was  not  a  slave  !  For  Carmelita 
Mira  Estrella,  daughter  of  Don  Hernandez  de  Rivera, 
was  called  Eulalie  Camila;  for,  of  course,  I  changed 
the  name." 

H  My  God!  If  you  prove  this,  Louise  and  Nita  are 
free!  "  cries  Covington,  in  such  excitement  that  as  he 
looks  at  him,  Poussin  smiles,  thinking  him  a  greater 
scoundrel,  perhaps,  even  than  himself. 

"  Yes;  and  the  Tournay  estates  are  also  theirs!  "  he 
chuckles.  "  Do  you  think  the  evidence  is  valuable 
enough  to  pay " 

"Damned  little  for!"  says  Bob,  for  he  sees  the 
man  has  thoughts  of  making  a  demand  for  many 
thousands  for  his  evidence. 

"  SacrS  /  "  mutters  Poussin  :      "You  want  it  not  ?  " 

"Go,  take  it  and  sell  it  tc  the  girls!  Take  it  and 
sell  it  to  the  girls!  " 

"  Monsieur  will  give  nothing  for  it  ?  " 
'I  might,  a  little." 

"  Ten  thousand  dollars  ?  " 

11  Nonsense!  How  am  I  going  to  get  ten  thousand 
dollars  for  you  ?    I  dare  not  give  it  to  you  in  a  check !  " 

"Oh,  yes;  of  course.  Aha!  I  see — Monsieur  is  a 
wise  man." 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  I  will  do!  "  says  Bob.  "I  have 
three  thousand  dollars  in  the  safe  below.  I  will  give  it 
to  you  for  the  evidence — when  you  prove  to  me  by  your 
own  affidavits  and  these  trinkets  that  you  speak  of,  and 
the  entries  in  your  ledger,  and  all  collateral  evidence, 
that  it  is  of  value  to  me — not  before!  " 

"  I  came  prepared  to  do  that  now  !  " 

"Now!    Here!    Oh,  my  God!"    And  Bob  is  crying. 

"Yes,  it  is  hard  to  lose  so  much  wealth.  Monsieur 
must  name  a  larger  sum,"  laughs  Poussin. 

"  Not  a  picayune!  " 

"  I  cannot  speak  for  three  thousand  dollars!  " 

"  Four  thousand  then!"  And  soon  they  agree  to 
five  thousand  dollars,  for  Covington  cannot  haggle, 
and  is  thinking:  "  She  said  every  breath  of  freedom  1 
stole  from  her  was  centuries." 

"When  will  you  bring  your  papers?"  he  asks 
hoarsely. 


BOB    COVINGTON  299 


i  i 


I  have  them  here.  I  came  prepared.  With  five 
thousand  dollars  in  my  hands  the  evidence  is  yours  to- 
night." 

"  Make  affidavit  to  the  facts  you  state !  Sit  there  at 
that  table!"  gasps  Bob,  and  takes  an  awful  drink  of 
brandy,  his  hand  shaking  the  glass. 

"  The  affidavit  is  already  prepared.  I  had  expected 
this,"  murmurs  Poussin,  and  places  before  Bob  a  paper 
that  seems  blurred  to  him. 

But  forcing  dazed  eyes  and  reeling  brain  to  their 
work,  Covington  sees  that  here  is  certain  proof ,  and 
mutters,  hoarsely :  ' '  Take  oath  to  this  before  a  notary !" 

"No!     I  dare  not  before  a  notary!" 

"Oho!  Make  oath  before  yourself !  You're  notary 
enough  for  me;  I'll  witness  it.  You  must  make  this 
certain  to  me,  before  I  buy." 

u  The  money!" 

"When  you  have  sworn!" 

"I'll  do  it  now!" 

Bob  staggers  downstairs  to  the  hotel  office  where 
they  think  him  drunk  or  crazy,  but  gets  the  money 
from  the  safe,  and  Poussin  sits  down  to  write  his  own 
acknowledgments  with  many  chuckles,  jeering:  "  This 
is  foolishness!  Into  the  flame  it  goes  within  the  minute 
this  man  gets  hand  upon  the  evidence  of  beauty's  free- 
dom!" 

But  Covington  flies  in  upon  him,  muttering,  for  his 
tongue  seems  heavy:  "Here's  your  cash — now  the 
affidavit!" 

Finding  it  signed  and  attested,  he  places  in  trem- 
bling characters  his  name  as  witness  to  it,  and  taking 
this  in  his  hand,  and  a  little  missal  bearing  the  arms  of 
the  Rivera  family  and  in  it  the  true  name  of  the 
mother  of  Eulalia  Camila,  and  the  date  of  Mira's  birth, 
and  a  locket  taken  from  the  dead  mother's  breast  bear- 
ing the  Rivera  arms  and  crest,  and  two  pages  cut 
from  the  records  of  Poussin's  ledger — in  all  with  Pous- 
sin's  affidavit — evidence  enough  to  free  his  love. 

Then  he  screams:   "Out,  scoundrel!" 

But  Poussin  jeers:  "O — ho — ho!  Ha — ha — ha! 
We  understand  each  other  thoroughly.  The  slave  is 
very  beautiful ;  the  estate  is  very  valuable.     Monsieur, 


300  BOB    COVINGTON 

bon  soir.  Would  you  like  a  few  tickets  for  Rodriguez's, 
or  information  about  the  Kentucky  May  events?  "  and, 
smiling  -in  his  face,  bows  and-  goes'away,  leaving  Bob 
Covington  with  as  great  a  lure  as  ever  came  to  tempt 
man  since  earth  rolled  round. 

He  mutters,  hoarsely:  "She  said  when  the  cage  is 
open,  the  bird  will  fly  away.  I  am  tired  of  thy  face, 
that  always  tells  me  I  am  a  slave!  "  He  thinks  of  his 
financial  ruin — of  his  mortgaged  Blue  Grass  home.  He 
has  but  to  place  these  papers  in  the  lamp  that  burns 
even  at  his  hand,  and  to-morrow  morning  be  rich — to- 
morrow morning  walk  into  the  Tournay  mansion  and 
say:  "  Louise,  behold  thy  master!  "  and  the  beautiful 
face  is  his,  whether  she  will  or  no — his  for  all  time. 
She  must  fawn  upon  him  for  her  freedom — and  for 
Nita's! 

Then  suddenly  unto  his  eyes  comes  a  picture  of  the 
sunshine  he  saw  upon  that  face  this  very  day,  when  his 
love  thought  there  was  a  hope  her  dainty  feet  might 
tread  the  high  places  of  mankind,  that  her  young 
face  might  proudly  meet  the  glance  of  all  the  world, 
and  not  droop,  cringing  with  slave's  humility;  and 
he  mutters:  "No — by  Heaven!  Though  I  am  ruined 
— though  my  darling  hates  me  forever — though  I  never 
see  again  her  face  on  earth — though  her  beauty  is  for 
another    man! — Bob    Covington    isn't    built    that 


way 


i  " 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 
"keep  your  promise!" 

In  a  flash — as  if  he  dared  not  wait — Bob  buttons  up 
the  papers  in  his  pocket.  Taking  the  missal  and 
locket  with  him,  and  holding  his  hand  tightly  on  his 
coat,  for  fear  of  loss,  he  goes  out,  slamming  his  door, 
to  stagger  down  the  stairs. 

In  the  street  he  runs,  making  for  Martineau's  house, 
and  muttering,  brokenly :  "I  have  given  her  freedom — 
all !  She  will  be  the  Louise  of  old  to  others — but  not 
to  me  !  " 


BOB    COVINGTON  301 

It  is  now  midnight,  but  he  thunders  on  the  avocafs 
portals  until  they  are  opened  by  a  sleepy  servant.  To 
him  he  cries:  "  Get  your  master  up  !  I  have  news  for 
him  !  "  and  in  the  private  office  waiting,  gazes  about 
and  mutters:   "Here  she  was  first  made  a  slave." 

Three  minutes  after,  Martineau,  coming  down  in 
dressing-gown,  looks  affrightedly  at  him,  and  gasps: 
"  In  God's  name,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"Free!     Free  !"  cries  Bob.      "Free!" 

"Free!     Who?     What?" 

"Free!  Louise  free!  Never  was  a  slave !  Herein 
this  very  room  where  she  was  put  in  chains,  I  take 
them  off!  Free!  —  a  free  mother  bears  a  free  child! — 
a  white  mother  bears  a  white  child — a  wedded 
mother  bears  a  legitimate  child!  Free,  Martineau, 
free!  LOUISE  IS  FREE!  "  And  with  the  words  he 
falls  laughirtg  and  sobbing  into  the  arms  of  the  avocat, 
who  is  laughing  and  sobbing  also,  and  they  are  like 
crazy  men  together. 

Finally,  Martineau,  with  lawyer's  caution,  falters: 
"  Your — your  evidence!  " 

"Ah!  That  was  Jarvis's  brilliant  mind  that  gave  to 
my  darling  her  last  chance  in  the  world."  And  Cov- 
ington puts  the  papers  before  the  avocat,  muttering: 
"  Read  them — examine  them!  Look  at  the  collateral 
proofs!  " 

Then  Martineau,  reading  the  documents  and  in- 
specting carefully  the  missal  and  the  locket  and  the 
registry  within  the  prayer  book,  and  Poussin's  affida- 
vit, holds  them  firmly  in  his  hands,  and  says:  "You 
are  ejected  from  the  Tournay  estate!"  next  cries: 
"  A  noble  action!  But,  Grand Dieu ! — man — what  a  re- 
ward !  Think  what  a  noble  wife  she  will  make  to  you  ! 
Come  with  me  ! — your  eyes  must  be  the  first  to  see 
hers  burn  in  the  light  of  freedom  !  " 

"No,"  answers  Bob,  slowly,  his  face  very  pale,  his 
lips  compressed.  Then  he  suddenly  shocks  the  lawyer 
by  gasping:    "  I — I  shall  never  see  her  face  again." 

"  Impossible  ! " 

"  I'm  going  away  as  soon  as  I  have  settled  another 
affair,"  he  mutters,  brokenly.  "  Probably  to-morrow. 
I  owe  you  a  good  deal  of  money,    Martineau,  that  in 


302  BOB    COVINGTON 

your  generosity  and  the  certainty  of  repayment  you 
loaned  me.  I  shall  forward  you^a  mortgage  on  my 
Kentucky  farm  for  the  amount;  it  is  worth  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars.  I  owe  you  twenty  odd  thousand 
dollars  and  three  thousand  more  that  you  must  pay  to 
Jarvis  for  me.     It  is  cheap — it  bought — her  freedom  !  " 

"Sacre  !     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"I  mean — Louise  told  me  to-night  that  I  should 
never  look  upon  her  again  unless  I  claimed  her  as  her 
master;  that  were  she  free  she  would  fly  away  from 
me — that  she  was  tired  of  seeing  a  face' that  always 
said  to  her  she  was  a  slave.  Ah,  that  was  bitter, 
Martineau,  bitter! — when  I  was  trying  to  give 
her — my  darling — her  last  and  only  chance  of  being 
my  equal — my  companion — my  wife  in.  this  fair  land. 
Now  go  to  her  and  tell  her  she  is  free." 

To  this  Martineau  says,  determinedly:  '^Promise  to 
meet  me  in  this  office  in  half  an  hour!  " 

''And  if  not?" 

"Then  I  do  not  tell  her!  That  you  shall  do  your- 
self !  " 

"Go!" 

Five  minutes  after,  Martineau,  rousing  the  servants, 
breaks  into  the  Tournay  house,  runs  along  the  hallway 
like  a  crazy  man,  and  cries  at  the  door  of  Louise's  bed- 
room:     "Come  out!     Come  out,  I  say!  " 

She  has  not  slept,  and  answers:  "  I  cannot!  I  am 
imprisoned  here! 

"  Imprisoned?  "  And  half  opening  the  door,  he  says: 
"  Nonsense!  " 

"I  am  confined  by  my  word  to  Mr.  Covington,  my 
master,  not  to  leave  this  room  or  communicate  with 
anyone  without  his  permit.  Dear  Monsieur  Martineau, 
please  go  away. " 

But  he  repeats  to  her:   "Come  out!" 

"  Have  I  Mr.  Covington's  permission?" 

"Of  course!     I  come  from  him!     Step  out!" 

"  Mercy!  What  is  it?  "  she  screams  *4  Mon  Dien ! 
Soule! — Bob!  Bob!  "  And  hurriedly  putting  on  dress- 
ing wrapper  and  her  bare  white  feet  in  slippers,  Louise 
flies  into  the  parlor,  gazes  about  and  cries,  affrightedly: 
"Bob!— he  is  not  here!" 


BOB    COVINGTON  .  303 

Then,  Martineau  hesitating,  fearing  the  shock  of  sud- 
den knowledge,  she  commences  to  sway  and  stagger 
and  give  out,  in  piteous  tones :  ' '  They're  going  to  fight ! 
God  has  cursed  me !  To  make  my  darling  proclaim  me 
slave  I  have  put  upon  him  mortal  danger!  Bob  came 
to  you  to  make  his  will — that's  what  brought  you  to 
me!  "  And  she  wrings  her  hands  and  laughs  in  agony: 
"  They're  going  to  fight  for  me,  a  slave-girl ! " 

"That  would  not  be  true!  "whispers  Martineau. 
"  You  are  no  slave-girl!  Louise,  you  are  free!" 

"Free? — Ah,  Bob  has  manumitted  me!  " 

"You  need  no  manumission!  You  never  were  a 
slave — your  mother  never  was  a  slave!  " 

"Not  a  SLAVE?"  and  she  strides  up  to  him. 
Seizing  from  his  hand  the  papers,  and  looking  at  them, 
she  cannot  read,  the  words  seem  blurred,  but  he  ex- 
plains in  whispered  tones.  Suddenly  she  begins  to 
understand,  and  it  is  as  if  the  sunshine  that  has  been 
turned  from  her  has  come  upon  her  fair  face  and  she 
sees  the  glorious  opening  of  the  world  to  youth  and 
beauty  and  to  equal  love. 

Then  from  out  her  lips  rings  through  the  half- 
opened  casements,  on  the  still,  quiet  air  of  night, 
clear  as  angels'  trumpet  over  Bethlehem: 

"FREE !" 

And  a  man  outside,  intently  listening,  mutters:  "  I 
heard  my  darling's  first  cry  of  freedom !  'Twas  like 
the  birth  of  a  new  child!"  Then  says,  hoarsely,  "By 
Heaven,  I'm  happy  anyway!  " 

Within  the  room,  the  girl,  turning  to  the  avocat, 
whispers:  "Where is  he?  He  should  have  been  the 
first  to  hear  my  voice  cry  '  Free  ' !  " 

"  He  is  going  away,  broken  in  heart,  because  you  do 
not  love  him." 

"  Not  love  him  ?  Ha-ha-ha!  Martineau! — not  love 
him?"     , 

"Broken  in  fortune,  that  he  has  squandered  to  take 
his  chains  off  your  wrists — to  give  you  freedom — to 
give  you  wealth!  " 

"  Going  away  ?  "  she  gasps,  as  if  she  did  not  under- 
stand, then  screams:  "I  remember  now!  Oh,  God, 
forgive  me!     I  told   him  I  was  tired  of   his  master's 


304  BOB    COVINGTON 

face !  Going  away  ?  Mon  Dieu !  Going  away  un- 
happy ?  "  Then  something  flashes  through  her  mind, 
her  eyes  become  misty  with  passion,  and  a  dreamy, 
far-away  look  is  in  them;  she  commands:  "  Bring  him 
here ! — to  me !  I  will  see  if  my  Bob  will  go  away  un- 
happy;" next  suddenly  cries:  "Free!"  and  goes  to 
gazing  at  the  documents  again,  and  sunshine  flashes  in 
her  eyes  and  gladness  ripples  on  her  lips. 

As  he  looks  on,  the  lawyer  starts.  Louise  has  fallen 
on  her  knees ;  her  white  arms  are  raised  to  heaven. 
She  is  praying,  but  whether  it  is  to  God  or  to  Bob  Cov- 
ington, Martineau  cannot  tell;  their  names  are  so 
mixed,  and  she  is  thanking  both  together. 

He  leaves  the  room,  and,  coming  down  the  stairway 
into  the  courtyard,  passes  to  the  street;  but  at  the  very 
entrance  of  the  house,  stumbles  in  the  gloom  against 
a  man,  and,  looking  at  him,  says:  "Thank  God  ! — 
you  are  here  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  wanted  to  hear  her  voice  cry  '  Free ' !  Mar- 
tineau— through  these  walls  I  heard  it!  " 

"  Come  with  me!  "  says  the avocat.  "  She  demands 
to  see  you.  Mon  Dieu!  Don't  hesitate!  Come  in — 
look  at  her  face — it  is  a  different  one !  " 

Then  Covington,  following  him  into  the  parlor,  even 
in  his  misery,  even  as  he  thinks  he  has  lost  her,  is 
happier  than  when  he  had  gained  her.  For  he  sees 
his  love,  her  beautiful  form  draped  in  the  clinging 
robes  of  night,  holding  in  her  hands  the  documents  and 
muttering:  "  Free!  "  And  though  the  tears  are  stream- 
ing from  her  blue  eyes,  her  face  is  lighted  by  the  sun 
of  a  new  day. 

Suddenly  she  looks  at  him,  her  lips  twitch  a  little, 
and  she  falters:   "  Bob!"  but  does  rot  rise. 

To  her  he  comes  quite  formally  and  murmurs: 
"Louise — I  beg  your  pardon — Miss  Tournay;  my 
congratulations  upon  your  release  from  cruel  thraldom 
— my  blessings  on  your  new  and  happy  life — my  apolo- 
gies for  having  treated,  within  two  hours,  a  free-born 
maiden  as  my  slave." 

"Oh,  you  mean  sending  me  to  my  room.  Bob,  that 
was  just  and  right — whether  I  were  slave  or  free.  I'd 
obey  you  just  as  quickly  now." 


BOB    COVINGTON  305 

"  Yes,  mine  will  always  be  a  master's  face  to  you," 
he  mutters  sadly  and  turns  toward  the  door. 

But  she,  rising  suddenly,  takes  a  step  toward  him, 
murmuring,  pleadingly:  "  You — you  are  going  away  ?  " 

"Yes — to-morrow,  if  Soule  permits  me." 

Then  her  eyes  blaze  and  she  cries,  piteously :  "  Would 
you  make  me  the  greatest  monster  of  ingratitude  since 
the  earth  began  ?  "  An  awful  reproach  comes  in  her 
voice  and  eyes;  she  falters:  "Ah!  That's  a  brave  re- 
venge of  a  fine  gentleman  upon  a  free  born  maid  for 
the  despairing  words  of  a  poor,  tortured  slave-girl"; 
next  suddenly  becomes  haughty,  and  startles  both 
Martineau  and  him  by  demanding,  coldly:  "  Mr.  Cov- 
ington, are  you  a  man  of  honor  ?  " 

"  A  man  of  honor  ?  "  stammers  Bob,  and  throws  the 
curls  from  off  his  brow  as  he  mutters:  "Don't  you 
think  I  have  done  the  square  thing  by  you  and  little 
Nita  ?  " 

"No!" 

"My  God  !" 

"  Mon  Dieu,  Louise  !  "  cries  Martineau.  "  This  is 
monstrous  !     No  man  ever  did  so  much  for  a  woman  !  " 

"For  Nita — yes!  "  says  the  girl,  airily.  "  For  me — 
not  yet  !  A  man  of  honor  keeps  his  word.  Bob  Cov- 
ington, you  made  a  promise  in  this  very  room  that  you 
would  wed  Louise,  the  slave-girl,  in  Christ  Church, 
Canal  Street,  New  Orleans,  within  the  month." 

"  Louise  !  " 

"  That  promise,  I,  Miss  Tournay,  the  free-born  maid, 
demand.  There  is  now  only  one  week  left  for  you  to 
make  your  word  good !  if  you  are  a  man  of  honor," 
and  her  fair,  white  hand  is  extended  to  him  trem- 
blingly, entreatingly,  and  the  blue  eyes  gaze  upon  him 
as  if  he  were  not  only  her  master,  but  her  god. 

The  diamonds  of  her  engagement  ring  flash  in  his 
eyes. 

"You  wish  me — to  keep  my  promise?"  he  says, 
slowly. 

"  For  what  did  you  make  me  free  ?  To  desert  me 
and  break  my  heart  ?  " 

"You  would  be  happy  as — as  my  wife  ?  " 

"  I  would  be  happy  as  your  petted  slave,   Bob  !  " 


306  BOB    COVINGTON 

He  springs  to  her,  and  has  her  in  his  arms,  and  is 
muttering:  "You  forgive  me  for — for  having  been 
your  master  ? " 

"  I  will  not  forgive  you,  unless  you  are  my  master  ! 
The  only  value  I  place  upon  myself,  that  you  have 
given  to  me,  is  to  give  myself  back  to  you. — Oh,  Bob! 
what  are  you  doing  ?  " 

For  he  has  gathered  her  to  his  heart,  and  she  is 
laughing  in  his  arms,  and  it  is  the  old  laugh — the  laugh 
he  has  not  heard  for  a  month — the  laugh  of  Louise 
Tournay,  the  freeborn  maiden  who  will  be  his  bride 
— in  the  sunshine  of  equal  marriage  before  God  and 
man. 

From  this  scene  Martineau  has  fled ;  it  is  too  sacred 
for  even  his  old  and  friendly  eyes.  He  has  been  talk- 
ing and  explaining  the  matter  to  Pamela,  who  has  by 
this  time  come  out  into  the  hall  in  schoolmistress  neg- 
ligee. 

In  the  morning,  however,  a  little  pathetic  note 
reaches  him,  reading: 

Dear  Monsieur  Martineau  : 

Help  me — save  me  from  despair!  In  my  joy  last  night,  I  for- 
got the  awful  thing  I  had  done.  Bob  is  going  to  meet  Mon- 
sieur Soule. 

Of  course  he  would  face  a  thousand  pistols  rather  than 
proclaim  that  I,  his  coming  bride,  had  ever  been  his  bond- 
maid or  his  chattel. 

For  God's  sake,  let  me  confer  with  you,  that  you  may  make 
the  explanation  to  Soule  that  my  Bob  never  would. 

Your  distracted 

Louise. 

Five  minutes  after,  the  avocat,  who  knows  in  such 
an  affair  he  must  act  quicky,  is  at  the  Tournay  house. 
Here  a  beautiful  but  agonized  creature  comes  to  meet 
him,  and  faltering  out  the  details  of  the  catastrophe 
begs  him  for  Heaven's  sake  to  keep  her  from  being 
bereft  or  thinking  herself  a  murderess. 

"I  believe  I  can  arrange  the  affair  satisfactorily," 
says  the  avocat.  I  know  Soule  well ;  he  is  a  thorough 
gentleman  and  a  man  of  honor." 

"Z  am  sure  you  can,  dear  Monsieur  Martineau.  I 
can't  believe  that  I  am  to  be  unhappy  now.  We  are 
to  be  married  next  Thursday  week.  Was  it  not  a 
wonderful  promise  my  Bob  made  to  me?     Did  he  not 


BOB    COVINGTON  307 

nobly  fulfill  it?"  Then  she  smiles  a  little  and  says: 
**  The  only  one  in  the  house  who  is  distressed  is  Nita. 
Her  master  gave  her  too  many  bonbons." 

From  this  interview  Martineau  goes  straight  to 
Soule,  and  exacting  the  most  sacred  promise  of  secrecy, 
makes  such  a  representation  to  the  Creole  beau  that 
just  before  the  nuptials  there  comes  to  Louise  an  ex- 
quisite present  bearing  the  card  of  Monsieur  Hector- 
Soubise  Soule,  and  on  it  is  written:  "My  congratula- 
tions on  wedding  the  noblest  gentleman  I  have  ever 
met. " 

But  young  Soule  is  not  present  at  the  nuptials.  The 
bright  eyes  of  Louise,  the  slave-girl,  shining  even  in 
the  pathos  of  her  captivity,  have  made  his  heart  too 
sad.  He  has  gone  North,  to  try  and  forget  the  bride 
who  Vill  figure  at  one  of  the  most  exclusive  and  fash- 
ionable weddings  that  has  ever  taken  place  in  the 
Crescent  City. 

For  Bob,  thinking  it  may  add  to  his  sweetheart's 
pride  in  herself,  which  he  feels  must  have  been  humbled 
in  the  very  dust  in  this  month  of  her  servitude,  wishes 
to  take  his  bride  away  from  her  native  State  with  as 
much  pomp  of  circumstance  as  possible. 

To  this  purport,  he  has  called  in  La  Farge's  aid,  and 
suggesting  to  his  friend  his  wishes  in  the  matter,  Henri 
has  remarked:  "Mademoiselle  Louise  should  have  a 
grand  wedding  here.  The  Tournay  family  is  as  old  as 
any  in  Louisiana.  My  mother  and  sister,  I  will  pledge, 
to  do  all  in  their  power  to  place  the  daughter  of 
Prosper  Tournay  in  her  proper  station  in  New  Orleans 
society." 

And  so  he  does.  His  mother  and  his  sister  calling' 
upon  Mademoiselle  Tournay,  the  coming  bride's  table 
is  soon  covered  with  the  cards  of  the  elite  of  Creole 
society. 

So  it  comes  to  pass,  one  bright  May  morning,  to 
merry  wedding  chimes,  with  little  Nita  the  maid  of 
honor,  and  Mademoiselle  Rene  La  Farge  as  brides- 
maid, Louise,  on  Martineau's  arm,  walks  up  the  aisle 
of  Christ  Church,  New  Orleans,  a  vision  of  white  in 
tulle  and  satin  and  laces,  upon  her  lovely  brow  the 
orange  flowers  that  but  a  week  ago  had  been  forbidden 


308  BOB    COVINGTON 

by  law  to  rest  on  her  fair  curls,  to  find  Mr.  Covington 
waiting  for  her  at  the  chancel,  his  Creole  friend  acting 
as  his  best  man. 

The  concourse  is  a  large  and  select  one;  for  to 
take  part  in  any  ceremony  in  which  Madame  Antoinette 
Marie  La  Farge  is  prominent,  is  social  distinction. 

This  even  impresses  Mr.  Kitson  Jarvis,  as  he  sits  in  a 
new  and  luxuriant  black  broadcloth  suit,  his  enormous 
boots  polished  till  they  shine  like  fire,  a  big  white  posy 
in  his  buttonhole  and  a  shirt  front  much  too  big  for 
him,  that  was  immaculate  this  morning,  but  is  now 
stained  by  fallen  drops  from  numerous  cocktails,  mint 
juleps  and  whisky  straights;  Kitson  having  celebrated 
this  day  himself.  He  mutters,  sotto  voce  :  "By  snakes! 
Here  are  the  Polks!  Is  not  that  old  Monsieur  Martigny 
and  his  wife  and  daughters  ?  Oh,  Gehosh  !  This  ere's 
a  procession  of  the  descendants  of  DTberville,  Caron- 
delet,  Gayarre\  Bienville,  Ponce  de  Leon,  La  Salle, 
Cordova,  and  Friar  Mark — if  he  had  any.  It  is  a  meet- 
ing of  the  old  regime"  Then  he  mutters:  "Great 
Josh!  And  just  to  think — Whew! — if  it  hadn't  been 
for  your  great  brain,  Kitson,  what  would  that  beautiful, 
exquisite  lady-of-the-land,  highfalutin,  high-rigged 
bride  have  been  right  now?" 

But  Bob  and  Louise  are  coming  down  the  aisle 
to  the  joyous  strains  of  the  wedding  march,  proclaim- 
ing happy  nuptials. 

Getting  out  before  them,  Kitson  stands,  one  hand 
ready  to  doff  his  hat,  and  the  other  hand  in  his  pocket, 
fingering  a  tiny  portion  of  his  thirty-odd-thousand- 
dollar  fees. 

Edging  her  way  to  him  through  the  fashionable 
throng  comes  a  woman  of  heavy  jaw  and  determined 
mien,  and  whispers,  jeeringly:  "  You're  a  great  lawyer 
— your  cases  don't  stick  !  " 

"Oh — ah!  Mrs.  Combes — I  remember  you.  I'm 
thinking  what  you  mean.  You  bet  they  don't  stick 
when  I  get  another  big  fee  for  knocking  'em  sky  high! 
Kitson  Jarvis  was  the  man  that  helped  Bob  Covington 
put  the  orange  blossoms  on  that  bride's  head — But 
you'll  excuse  me;  there's  my  little  client  Nita. " 

He  steps  to  the  carriage,  from  which  the  petite  maid 


BOB    COVINGTON  309 

of  honor,  in  the  prettiest  of  white  dresses  and  white 
silk  stockings  and  white  slippers,  looks  out  at  him  from 
over  a  big  bouquet,  as  she  sits  beside  Mrs.  Joyce.  To 
her  he  says:  "  How  is  Lawyer  Jarvis's  little  client,  this 
wedding  morn  ?  " 

But  Nita  snarls  at  him:  "I  hate  you!  You're  the 
bad  lawyer  that  keeps  my  cousin  Bob  from  being  my 
master  any  more.  He  doesn't  give  me  bonbons  now 
that  he's  not  my  boss." 

"Gee-Whiz!  The  ingratitude  of  childhood!" 
chuckles  Kitson  and  turns  away  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
an  exquisite  creature,  all  white  satin  and  tulle  and 
feathery  lace,  being  assisted  into  another  carriage  by 
the  tall  Kentuckian. 

"Great  Crackey !  here's  the  bride!  "  And  he  would 
step  forward  to  salute  the  beautiful  Louise,  but  sud- 
denly there  is  a  touch  upon  his  arm  and  an  old  and 
weazened,  dried  up  man,  with  cunning  but  astonished 
eyes,  though  dressed  in  a  new  suit  of  clothes,  whispers 
in  astounded  voice:  "  Viable !  I — I  cannot  under- 
stand, Monsieur  Jarvis.  Nom  de  Dicu !  Monsieur 
Covington  has  married  his — it  is  against  the  law." 

"Ah,  it  would  have  been  against  the  law,"  jeers 
Jarvis,"had  Covington  been  what  you  are,  and — damn 
it! — what  perhaps  I  would  have  been." 

A  moment  after,  taking  the  arm  of  Martineau,  the 
two  walk  off  together,  talking  over  the  affair,  with  these 
curious  words: 

"Adieu  the  last  of  the  Tournay  skeleton,"  laughs 
the  avocat. 

"  Ah,"  remarks  Jarvis.  "  If  I  had  not  roused  those 
old  bones  out  of  the  closet  you  had  them  locked  up  in, 
and  buried  them  twenty  feet  underground,  it  might 
have  knocked  those  two  turtle  doves  sky  high.  It 
must  feel  mighty  curious  to  have  a  slave  girl  for  your 
fiancee;  but  that  wouldn't  be  a  marker  to  waking  up 
some  fine  morning  and  finding  the  wife  of  your  bosom 
was  your  chattel  personal.  Reckon  I've  been  a  blessing 
to  both  bride  and  groom." 

"  Sapristi  !     A  good  lawyer  is  like  a  good  surgeon — 
a  blessing  when  he  operates  successfully," 
Martineau, 


3J°  BOB    COVINGTON 

"And  I  think  I  made  a  pretty  good  cutting  up,"  re- 
plies Jarvis.  "  Thirty  odd  thousand  U.  S.  shin-plas- 
ters, and  the  thanks  and  blessings  of  both  parties  to 
the  case! " 

Some  hours  afterward,  on  the  deck  of  the  great 
steamer  Eclipse,  panting  at  the  levee,  her  smoke- 
stacks throwing  out  great  masses  of  vapor,  her 
steam-valves  throbbing,  her  enormous  wheels  ready 
to  revolve,  among  its  crowd  of  passengers,  with 
all  their  varying  interests,  joys,  sorrows,  and  distrac- 
tions, stand  Covington  and  the  lady  he  delights  to 
honor.  La  Farge  and  his  other  friends  have  shaken 
his  hand  and  bidden  him  and  his  bride  bon  voyage,  for 
Bob  and  Louise  are  going  to  their  Blue  Grass  home. 

The  cry  is  "  All  ashore!  "  The  gangplank  is  already 
taken  up,  when  through  the  crowd  upon  the  levee 
breaks  Jarvis,  with  a  yellow  envelope  in  his  hand, 
shouting:   "Hi,  Colonel,  Hi!" 

Two  dozen  distinguished  individuals  take  off  their 
hats  and  bow. 

But  Kitson  shakes  his  head  and  cries  :  '**  I  want 
Colonel  Covington !  " 

"Colonel?"  yells  Bob,  "What  the  deuce  do  you 
mean?  " 

' '  Well,  I've  jist  got  to  call  you  '  Colonel '  now.  The 
news  has  just  come  from  Kentuck  that  you've  been 
nominated  for  Congress." 

But  before  he  can  say  more,  the  great  wheels  re- 
volve, and  the  vessel  darts  churning  her  way  against 
the  current  of  the  mighty  river  towards  the  North. 

And  Louise,  looking  in  her  husband's  face,  her  eyes 
flashing  at  the  triumph  of  her  adored,  laughs :  ' '  Nomi- 
nated for  Congress,  my  Bob,"  then  murmurs  into  his 
ear:  '  Now  do  you  think  there  won't  be  a  single  man 
in  your  native  town  of  Lexington  to  vote  for  you — 
because  I  am  your  bride  ?  " 

"  It  wouldn't  trouble  me  much  if  they  didn't,"  laughs 
the  triumphant  Benedict.  "I'm  happy  enough  with- 
out anything  else  but —  "  And  he  gazes  on  tne  ex- 
quisite creature — who  is  a  marvel  of  brilliant  beauty 
and  tender  love,  in  a  pertectly  fitting  Paris-made  trav- 
eling gown — so  eagerly,  so  ardently  that  she  retreats 


BOB    COVINGTON  31 1 

from  him  to  a  gorgeous  stateroom  that  is  decked  with 
flowers. 

But  this  is  no  harbor  of  refuge  for  her  now.  Blue 
Grass  bridegrooms  are  not  run  away  from  so  easily, 
and  Bob  is  at  the  door  with  her. 

"Do  you  want  to  come  in  also,  Bob?"  she  says, 
blushing  divinely. 

'  *  Great  Pocahontas !     Yes— rather !  " 

"  Very  well;  if  you  demand,  of  course  I  must  obey." 
Then  she  says,  as  her  head  falls  upon  his  shoulder: 
"Bob,  I  have  a  secret  for  you.  You  Ye  just  as  much 
my  master  now  as  when  I  was  your —  "  His  lips  stop 
her  words. 

But  she  means  it.  For  in  those  days  strong-minded 
ladies  were  not  so  dominant  as  they  are  now,  and  the 
New  Woman  had  not  come  to  devastate  the  American 
rooftree  and  destroy  the  American  fireside. 


Finis, 


APPENDIX. 

The  author  desires  to  express  his  obligations  to 
Colonel  Sanders  D.  Bruce  for  information  regarding  the 
Interstate  race  on  April  4,  1854,  at  the  Metairie 
Jockey  Club  course,  New  Orleans. 


THE  FOLLOWING  ARE  A  FEW  OF  THE  LAWS  OF  LOUIS- 
IANA AT  THE  TIME  OF  THIS  STORY  (1854)  THAT  MAY 
GIVE  SOME  IDEA  OF  THE  EXTRAORDINARY  POSITION, 
PREDICAMENT,  AND  EMBARRASSMENT  OF  ITS  HERO  AND 
HEROINE. ED. 

FROM  THE   CIVIL   CODE  OF  LOUISIANA   OF    1825. 

Article  2369.  Every  marriage  contracted  in  this  State  super- 
induces of  right,  partnership  or  community  of  acquets  or  gains, 
if  there  be  no  stipulation  to  the  contrary. 

Art.  2371.  This  partnership  or  community  consists  of  the 
profits  of  all  the  effects  of  which  the  husband  has  the  adminis- 
tration and  enjoyment,  either  of  right  or  of  fact,  of  the  produce 
of  the  reciprocal  industry  and  labor  of  both  husband  and  wife, 
and  of  the  estates  which  they  may  acquire  during  the  marriage, 
either  by  donations  made  jointly  to  them,  or  by  purchase,  or  in 
any  other  similar  way,  even  although  the  purchase  be  only  in 
the  name  of  one  of  the  two  and  not  of  both. 

Art.  2379.  Both  the  wife  and  her  heirs  or  assigns  have  the 
privilege  of  being  able  to  exonerate  themselves  from  the  debts 
contracted  during  the  marriage  by  renouncing  the  partnership 
and  community  of  gains. 

FROM   CIVIL  CODE   OF   LOUISIANA   OF    1853. 

Art.  95.  Free  persons  and  slaves  are  incapable  of  contract- 
ing marriage  together  ;  the  celebration  of  such  marriages  is 
forbidden,  and  the  marriage  is  Void  ;  there  is  the  same  inca- 
pacity and  the  same  nullity  with  respect  to  marriages  con- 
tracted by  free  white  persons  with  free  people  of  color. 

Art.  184.  .  .  .  An  enfranchisement  when  made  by  a  last 
will  must  be  expi ess  and  formal  and  shall  not  be  implied  by 
any  other  circumstances  of  the  testament,  such  as  a  legacy. 

Art.  184.  (Stat.  March  18,  1852.)  Hereafter  r.o  slave  or  slaves 
shall  be  emancipated  in  this  State  except  upon  the  express  con- 
dition that  they  shall  be  sent  out  of  the  United  States  within 
twelve  months  %fter  being  emancipated. 


APPENDIX  313 

Art.  187.  The  master  who  wishes  to  emancipate  his  slave 
must  make  a  declaration  of  his  intentions  to  a  judge  of  the 
parish  where  he  resides;  the  judge  must  order  notice  (specify- 
ing name,  color,  and  age  of  slave  or  slaves,  Vide  Art.  185)  to 
be  published  during  forty  days,  by  advertisement  posted  at  the 
duor  of  the  court-house  ;  and  if,  at  the  expiration  of  this  delay, 
no  opposition  be  made,  he  shall  authorize  the  master  to  pass 
the  act  of  emancipation. 

Every  person  desiring  to  emancipate  a  slave  who  shall  not 
have  attained  the  age  of  thirty  years  shall  present  to  the  judge 
of  the  parish  a  petition  ;  which  petition  shall  be  submitted  by 
the  said  judge  to  a  police  jury,  and  if  three-fourths  of  the 
members  of  the  said  jury,  together  with  the  parish  judge,  be 
of  opinion  that  the  motives  are  sufficient  to  allow  the  said 
emancipation,  the  petitioner  shall  be  authorized  to  proceed  to 
the  formalities  required  by  the  civil  code  (posting  of  notice,  etc.). 

FROM  REVISED  STATUTES  OF  LOUISIANA,    1 85 2. 

Section  19.  In  order  to  keep  slaves  in  good  order  and  submis- 
sion, no  person  whatever  shall  allow  any  slave  whose  care  and 
conduct  are  entrusted  to  him,  or  her,  and  residing  in  New 
Orleans,  to  go  out  of  said  city;  or  any  slave  residing  in  the 
country  to  go  out  of  the  plantation  to  which  said  slave  belongs, 
or  where  he  is  habitually  employed,  without  a  permission, 
signed  by  the  owner  or  other  person  having  charge  of  said 
slave,  and  every  slave  who  shall  be  found  beyond  the  limits  of 
the  said  city,  or  beyond  the  limits  of  the  plantation  to  which 
said  slave  belongs,  or  in  which  he  habitually  works,  without  a 
permission  as  above  mentioned,  or  without  a  white  person  ac- 
companying him,  shall  receive  twenty  lashes  from  the  person 
■who  will  arrest  him  and  shall  be  sent  back  to  his  master  who 
shall  pay  one  dollar  for  his  trouble  to  whoever  shall  bring  back 
said  slave. 

•  Sec.  29.  If  any  slave  shall  be  found  absent  from  the  house  or 
dwelling,  or  plantation  where  he  iives,  or  usually  works,  with- 
out some  white  person  accompanying,  and  shall  refuse  to  sub- 
mit to  the  examination  of  any  freeholder,  the  said  freeholder 
shall  be  permitted  to  seize  and  correct  the  said  slave  as  afore- 
said ;  and  if  the  said  slave  should  resist  or  attempt  to  make  his 
escape,  the  said  inhabitant  is  hereby  authorized  to  make  use  of 
arms,  but  at  all  events  avoiding  the  killing  of  said  slave  ;  but 
should  the  said  slave  assault  and  strike  the  said  inhabitant  he 
is  lawfully  authorized  to  kill  him. 


READ 


A  Princess 
Of  Paris 


Dealing  with  the  earlier  adventures 
of  the   characters  in 


The  King's  Stockbroker 


BY 


Archibald  Clavering  Qunter 


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A  SEQUEL  TO 


"A  Princess  of  Paris" 


BY 


Archibald  Clavering  Qunter 

Author  of  "Hr.  Barnes  of  New  York,"  «Tlr.  Potter  of 
Texas,"  "  Hiss  Nobody  of  Nowhere,"  etc.,  etc. 


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ANOTHER  GREAT  SUCCESS. 

Miss  Nobody 
of  Nowhere, 

in~ll       I  H^M^»^— Ml^— ——  I  in    ||  ||  I 

BY 

ARCHIBALD  C.  GUNTER. 


"  Full  of  incident  and  excitement." — New  York  Herald, 

"The  popularity  of  Mr.  Gunter  will  now  be  greater 
than  ever." — Tacotna  Globe, 

"  A  story  that  will  keep  a  man  away 
from  his  meals." — Omaha  Bee. 

"  There  is  not  a  dull  page  in  this  volume." 

—Daily  Chronicle  y  London,  Jan.  14,  189L 

4*  Gunter  scores  another  success." 

— Morning  Advertiser ■,  London,  Dec  16,  1890. 

"Well  worth  reading." 

— Galignaniy  Paris,  Nov.  24, 1S90. 

"  Nothing  could  exceed  its  thrilling  interest." 

— Glasgow  Herald,  Dec.  25,  1890. 

"  Gunter's  latest  remarkable  story  will  not  disappoint 
his  numerous  admirers." 

— Newcastle  Chronicle \  Dec.  4,  i%9©. 


Baron  Montez 

of  Panama  and  Paris. 

A  NOVEL. 

BY 

ARCHIBALD  CLAVERING  GUNTER, 

AUTHOR    OF 

"  Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York,"  "  Mr.  Potter  of  Texas,"  etc. 


"  Here,  certainly,  is  a  rattling  story." 

— N.  Y.  Times,  June  5th,  1893. 

"  Mr.  Gunter  has  written  nothing  better  than  the 
volume  before  us,  and  that  is  high  praise  indeed,  for 
his  writings  in  recent  years  have  had  a  world-wide 
reputation." 

— Ohio  State  Journal,  Columbus,  May  29,  1893. 

"  With  the  merit  of  continuous  and  thrilling  interest." 
— Chicago  Times,  May  27,  1893. 

"  The  latest  of  Mr.  Gunter's  popular  romances  will  be 
read  with  interest  by  the  many  who  have  already  followed 
the  fortunes  of  'Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York,'  and  'Mr. 
Potter  of  Texas.'  " 

—  The  Times,  Philadelphia,  Pa.,  May  20,  1893 

"  This  is  a  story  of  thrilling  interest." 

— Christian  Leader,  Cincinnati,  June  6,  1893. 


Miss  Dividends 

CUNTER'S   GREAT   NOVEL 

NOW  IN  ITS  NINETIETH  THOUSAND 


What  the  English  Press  Says  of  It 

"  The  reader  desirous  of  being  taken  out  of  him- 
self, can  hardly  do  better  than  be  introduced  by 
1  Miss  Dividends '  into  a  succession  of  scenes  full  of 
startling  interest." 

—London  Post,  Nov.  30th,  1892. 

"The  characters  are  so  full  of  nervous  energy 
and  physical  stir  that  they  soon  get  to  the  reader's 
nerves." 

— The  Athen&tim,  Nov.  5th,  1892, 

44  Carries  us  breathless  from  first  page  to  last.' 

—London  Globe,  Dec.  2d,  1892. 

"Especially  fascinating  and  absorb- 
ing." 

—London  Litercvry  World, 
Oct.  28th,  189s. 


OPINIONS  OF 

THE  GREAT  NOVEL, 

Mr.  Barnes 


of  New  York. 


ENGLAND. 

"There  is  no  reason  for  surprise  at  'Mr.  Barnes' 
being  a  big  hit" — The  Referee,  London,  March  25th. 

"Exciting  and  interesting" — The  Graphic. 

"  'Marina Paoli' — a  giant  character — just  as  strong 
as  *  Fedora.' " — Illustrated  London  News* 

"A  capital  story — most  people  have  read  it — I 
recommend  it  to  all  the  others." 

— James  Payne  in  Illustrated  London  News* 

AMERICA. 

"Told  with  the  genius  of  Alexander  Dumas,  the 
Elder." — Amusement  Gazette. 

"  Have  you  read  '  Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York  ? '  If 
no,  go  and  read  it  at  once,  and  thank  me  for  suggesting 
it.  ...  I  want  to  be  put  on  record  as  saying  '  it  is 
the  best  story  of  the  day — the  best  I  have  read  in  ten 
years.' " — Joe  Howard  in  Boston  Globe. 

But  at   that   time   Mr.  Howard  had 
not  read 

"Mr.  Potter  of  Texas." 


That  Frenchman! 

Now  in  ihe  One-Hundred-and-Twenticth-Thousaud. 

American  Edition. 

By  the  Author  of  "Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York." 


PAPER,  so  CENTS  s  CLOTH,  S1.SO. 


"The  work  exhibits  the  wonderful  resources  of  the 
author's  mind  and  the  richness  of  his  imaginative  powers. 
The  characters  are  forcibly  drawn,  the  details  worked  up 
with  surprising  exactness,  and  the  plot  unraveled  with 
scrupulous  care." — San  Francisco  Post,  May  25,  1889. 


How  I  Escaped 

By  W.  H.  PARKINS. 
Edited  by  Archibald  Clavering  Guntbr. 


PAPER,  0O  CENT8 ;  CLOTH,  $1.00. 


The  best  story  of  the  war  yet  written." 

-~4tlanta  Constitution. 


YB  74055 


M16S073 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA  LIBRARY 


Don  Balasco 
Of  Key  West 


BY 

ARCHIBALD    CLAVERING    GUNTER 

AUTHOR    OF 

"Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York";    "A  Princess  of  Paris"; 
"The  Kind's  Stockbroker,"  Etc.,  F.t<\ 


The  first  thing  we  ha\  e  to  say  after  reading  this  marvelous  story  of  ad- 
venture, intrigue,  deception,  Spanish  brutality,  Cuban  patriotism,  love  and 
fidelity,  sacrifice  and  heroism,  and  the  inexcusably  cold  indifference  of  the 
United  States  Government:  that  cold  and  criminally  apathetic  must  be  the 
heart  of  the  man  who  does  not  at  once  become  an  ardent  sympathizer  and  a 

beneficent  actor  with  the  Cubans  struggling  for  life  and  liberty 

.  .  The  description  of  the  West  Indies  by  the  gifted  author— of  the  seai.  and 
islands,  and  of  the  people— American,  Spanish,  and  Cuban— and  of  the  ciimate, 
and  of  the  manners,  and  cusl  merits  of  a  volatile  people,  is  a 

piece  of  word  painting  truly  sublime  and  fascinating. 

—Christian  leader,  Cincinnati,  Ohio. 


Plenty  of  the  romance,  excitement,  and  surprise  for  which  Mr.  Gunter's 
novels  are  noted.- -Boston  Journal. 


Have  you  read  Mr.  Archibald  Clavering  Gunter's  latest  story  ;     ' 
get  a  copy  at  once  at  the  nearest  news-stand .     Before  you  begin  it,  however, 
eat  a  good  square  meal,  for  you  will  not  eat  again  until  you  have  finished  the 
book      That  is  true  of  all  his  stones.—  The  Rochester  Courier. 


CLOTH,  $100.  PAPER,  50  Cents. 

Sent  post-paid  on  receipt  of  price. 


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